


Millennial Blues

by comicgeekery



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Bookstore AU, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Cult, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Fluff, Human AU, M/M, Nanny Crowley (Good Omens), Slow Burn, cabaret, crowley is bad at feelings, the plot starts small and gets bigger
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-01-30 09:49:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 81,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21426244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comicgeekery/pseuds/comicgeekery
Summary: Aziraphale is a standard retail bookseller trying to make ends meet. One day a man named Crowley shows up with a flyer for a variety show looking for new acts. And, well, Crowley is handsome and Aziraphale has been lonely...and working on some magic tricks. What harm could a bit of light flirting do? It all should be fine as long as no one asks about his past...
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 347
Kudos: 96





	1. Looking for Meaning

**Chapter One**

“But we can't be getting Christmas books already! We haven't even had Halloween yet!” Aziraphale complained. Was he whining too? He hoped not he hated it when he whined. He liked to think of himself as a trooper, a real part of the team here at Labyrinth Books. It was just, well, it was only October and he was already dreading the Christmas rush. 

Christmas had always been a favorite time of year for him, growing up. He had loved the merry festivities and the rush of goodwill. Now he was overwhelmed by a different sort of rush: the tide of people who would soon overtake the store, desperate for presents and low on patience. 

And he was going to have to work through it every week, five days per week, for eight hours every day. His feet were already hurting at the thought.

Labyrinth Books was not a bad place to work, Aziraphale was always quick to remind himself. His coworkers were kind. He wasn't working for a big chain. And...and...alright, sometimes he had trouble thinking of a third thing. That tended to happen, as it did today, at the end of his shift when he was tired and feeling a bit forlorn.

It was the beginning of his workweek right now. His shift was nearly over, but he had to come in to work again tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that.

_Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,_  
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,  
To the last syllable of recorded time;  
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools  
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!  
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,  
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,  
And then is heard no more. It is a tale  
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,  
Signifying nothing. 

It wasn't Aziraphale's favorite Shakespearean speech (it had become even less so lately) but he couldn't help thinking of it more and more often since he had gotten this job. It had only been five months ago and yet he felt it draining his soul every time he was there. Slowly, apologetically, but draining it all the same. 

Because he needed this job. He needed the money it gave him to pay his rent and stay alive. So that he wouldn't become one of the many homeless people who regularly broke his heart along the streets. So that he could survive to experience...something, someday. 

“Excuse me? Are you free?” someone asked from behind him.

Aziraphale was not, in fact, free. Never mind the the metaphorical implications of the question, he was currently struggling with a large pile of Christmas books that he was trying to find room on the shelf for. But of course this was retail, which meant constantly dropping everything to help a customer at a moment's notice. It was not an efficient system. 

Still, Aziraphale put down his books and turned to face them with a smile on his face. “Of course, how can I help you?”

The person who'd gotten his attention was a remarkably handsome man. He wore all black, including tight black jeans and a leather jacket. His eyes were hidden by a pair of stylish sunglasses and he had fiery red hair. Aziraphale took it all in as neutrally as he could. There were plenty of handsome men who came into the shop. There didn't have to be anything special about this one.

The man held out a sheet of paper. “I'm going around promoting a local event. Don't suppose you could hang this in your window or something, could you?”

Aziraphale's heart sank. So he wasn't even dealing with a customer. There were few highlights to his job, but he did enjoy at least finding good books for people to read. He took the flyer. 

“Of course. I'll see that it's put up on our announcement board as soon as possible.” Which would probably be in a month or so. The announcement board was very popular. Aziraphale glanced at the flyer nervously. Of course. The event it advertised was only a week away. It was for...a variety show of some sort? He took a moment to read more.

“Yeah, we're hold auditions next week,” said the man casually. “And then next month is the big show.” Then he smirked and Aziraphale was surprised at how captivating he found it. “I don't suppose I can expect to see you there, can I?”

Aziraphale glanced again at the flyer, prepared to gently decline the offer. Then he did a little math and realized, miraculously, that the auditions were on a day that he had off the next week. He could actually attend! It would mean getting up early to make sure his laundry got done and then there were those errands he'd been planning on...but yes! He could just fit it in! And this could just be the venue he'd been waiting for! 

At the least, it would get him out of the house for the day.

Immediately Aziraphale's hopes started to drop again. As with all things, he had to temper his expectations. “I suppose the auditions must be fairly competitive. There are a lot of talented people in London, after all.”

The man's eyebrows went up and Aziraphale was sure his eyes were going wide behind his sunglasses. “You want to audition? I was just asking if you wanted to see the show!”

Aziraphale wavered. “Oh. Well, I suppose I could try to arrange for that. It's just that there's this routine I've been working on in my spare time. I already have the props and everything...”

“By all means then, come to the auditions!” the man said with surprising enthusiasm. “I'd love to see you there. We don't get many male performers and it would be a nice change of pace. Here,” he handed him another copy of the flyer, “keep this one for yourself. I've got to get going, but I'm looking forward to seeing you there.” The man pulled down his sunglasses just enough for Aziraphale catch a glimpse of honey-colored eyes. He winked at Aziraphale and then headed for the door.

Aziraphale found himself blushing in the man's wake. He also found himself thinking a very dangerous thought, a maybe thought.  
Maybe this show would give him something to feel hopeful about. Maybe, if nothing else, it would give him a friend. 

He hoped there would be a place for his act at this variety show or rather, as the flyer called it, at this cabaret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Aziraphale has no idea what a cabaret actually is. Shenanigans will ensue! 
> 
> Please leave your thoughts in the comments! And feel free to contact me on tumblr under comicgeekery!


	2. Come to the Cabaret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale gets some surprises...

**Chapter Two**

Aziraphale spent the next week vacillating between emotions in regard to the upcoming audition. On the one hand he felt nervous. He'd never performed in front of a crowd before, but he was excited to see what they thought of his skills. On the other hand he felt sick with dread at having committed to the outing at all. It was a night where he could get a decent amount of rest for once by going to bed early. That was what he usually did on his days off.

Then there was the matter of the mysterious handsome man. There were plenty of handsome men that came into Aziraphale's shop, he even had the occasional fantasy about them. But he was surprised at how much this particular man was sticking in his head.

Aziraphale knew what it was when he thought about it for a bit. It was those honey-colored eyes. He had only caught a glimpse of them from behind the man's sunglasses, but they had intrigued him. He'd never seen eyes that color before. And then...the man had winked at him. The memory still sent a flutter into Aziraphale's stomach. As much as he tried to make nothing of it, he hadn't received attention like _that_ in quite some time.

So it was that Aziraphale walked up to the small London club, the Serpent, with a ball full of nerves in his gut and the taste of honey on his mind.

The club was small but it made up for that by being made up of one large room. It had a bar on one side and a stage on the other, perfect for the cabaret shows the Serpent hosted monthly. Aziraphale felt a little thrill looking around the room. He was somewhere new and different, somewhere that wasn't his flat or the bookstore. The air felt full of possibilities and for once that felt like a good thing. He should have done something like this ages ago! But then, maybe he couldn't have, not until...

The room had several people in it already, mostly women in interesting and eclectic costumes, but they all seemed to fade away the moment that Aziraphale caught sight of the man in the sunglasses. Aziraphale wondered why the man still wore them, even though they were indoors in a room with black walls. Then his heart started to thud as the man noticed him in return and smiled.

He was talking to a woman with bright red hair. He indicated Aziraphale and she turned to look at him as well. 

“And this is the fellow I was telling you about,” the man said with a warm smile. “I met him at the Labyrinth Bookshop and he seemed very excited to join our show.”

“That's wonderful,” said the woman. “We don't get many men and there's always a demand.”

That was the second time Aziraphale had heard something to that effect. He wondered why female performers were so much more common for a simple variety show. “Well I hope I can live up to your expectations,” he said as jovially as he could manage. He shuffled the cases he was carrying to one hand and held out the other. “My name is Aziraphale. It's a pleasure to meet you.”

The woman took his hand first. “I'm Carmen. I run this event.”

Then it was the mysterious man's turn. “Name's Crowley. Master of ceremonies.” 

Nothing special happened when Crowley took Aziraphale's hand. It was just simple skin-to-skin contact. Nothing to make a fuss over. But still... it was warm and solid and nice. It made Aziraphale wonder when was the last time he had meaningful contact with another human being. It made him feel both lonely and seen. 

Carmen interrupted his thoughts. She was looking down at the carrying case in his left hand. “And what do you have here? Is that...an animal?”

Aziraphale smiled proudly and gently put down his things. “This is my wonderful assistant, Harry! I couldn't perform without him.” He reached down to open the case and carefully pulled out a beautiful white rabbit.

Carmen and Crowley looked at Harry with stupefied expressions. Crowley reached out to pet him while Carmen just narrowed her eyes and cocked her head.

“Just what kind of an act are you planning to audition for us, Aziraphale?” she asked.

“A magic show, of course!” Aziraphale said proudly. Then he checked himself. “That is, if you don't already have one. I admit I've never really done this for an audience before. I'm a bit nervous to be honest.” Crowley seemed to be enjoying petting Harry, so Aziraphale handed the rabbit over. Crowley's eyebrows rose, as though he were shocked anyone would trust him with a living creature. 

“Don't, uh, don't worry about it,” said Crowley, now bumping Harry up and down as though he were an infant. “We take lots of first-timers here. We were just wondering if you, ah, well...”

“Are you planning to take off your clothes?” Carmen broke in bluntly. “Because that's more our usual fare.”

Aziraphale immediately went bright red. “I...I beg your pardon?”

Crowley winced and gently handed Harry back over. “Why don't you watch some of the auditions? Then you can decide if you still want to be a part of our show. Here, you can sit next to me.” 

He indicated a row of folding chairs and Aziraphale numbly sat down in one. Just what had he gotten himself into?

He watched as a number of acts came onto the stage. They all came on in outrageous costumes and danced to a song until they were down to some pasties and their knickers. Now it made sense that the other performers were mostly women. Not many blokes had the courage to do a striptease for a crowd. 

For his part, Aziraphale could barely bring himself to watch the show. He was torn between his desire to be a gentleman and avert his gaze, and the desire to be polite and attentive to a performance that had clearly had a lot of work put into it. Mostly he just looked away and applauded a lot. If it weren't for the fact that Crowley was next to him, he likely would have made his excuses and run off some time ago. 

But Crowley was there and, more than that, he was clearly paying attention to Aziraphale. He kept glancing in Aziraphale's direction, his expression hard to read behind his sunglasses. But he seemed to be gauging Aziraphale's reaction to what was going on on the stage. At first Aziraphale wondered if he was being tested in some way. Crowley must encounter a lot of judgmental types if this was his line of work. Perhaps he was trying to see if Aziraphale was some sort of conservative prude.

He wasn't. At least, he hoped he wasn't. He didn't like to think of himself as the type that would judge others for having a bit of fun with their clothes off. It was just...It was difficult to be confronted with something people were generally so modest about. 

That was what Aziraphale was thinking at first, but near the end of the third performance a woman twerked her barely-clad arse in front of the audience and Aziraphale found himself blushing to a degree that felt like it ought to be lethal. He looked away again and felt quietly humiliated that he was being so strongly affected by something that was clearly just a bit of fun for everyone else. What was he even doing here? This whole 'variety show' idea was clearly a mistake right from the start.

He was just trying to calculate how much longer he would have to endure this inner embarrassment when he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Crowley, and he appeared to be looking at him with concern. At least, Aziraphale hoped that was what that crinkled brow meant. He wished so much that he could see Crowley's eyes. 

“You doing alright, then?” Crowley asked quietly. “It's alright if you're not. This scene isn't for everybody.”

“It...It's fine,” Aziraphale quickly stammered, trying hard to pay attention to the question and not the feel of Crowley's hand. “Just a bit of a shock is all. I suppose I don't really fit in here with my rabbit and my...magic.” His cheeks burned anew with shame. He didn't even mention the magician's suit he'd brought along to change into. He was a fool for thinking this could be a place for him, somewhere he might feel like he belonged. 

“Hey,” Crowley's voice broke through his thoughts. “I think a magic act would be a brilliant addition to our show. It'd be a nice break, a change of pace.” He grinned, a bit of a challenge behind the display of teeth. “Are you willing to give it a go?” 

Crowley was still gripping his shoulder, still touching him. Aziraphale felt a combination of excitement, worry, and a sudden boldness. He felt...he had to dredge up the word from his memory, confident. “Alright,” he said. “Let's try it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some things aren't as they appear.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment! Also, my tumblr is under comicgeekery if you want to say hi!


	3. It's in the Bag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale leaves, Crowley returns.

**Chapter Three**

The magic act was a bit of a disaster. Well, sort of. Even Aziraphale had to admit he wasn't sure what to make of it. He'd dropped 'disappearing' coins, torn one of his scarves, and Harry had tried to hop away half-way through the act. At the same time he'd managed to keep his wits about him and recovered well from each of the incidents. The crowd was laughing by the end, but much more with him than at him. 

And Crowley had sat at the front the whole time, not laughing, just smiling to himself. It made the whole experience easier. Aziraphale stepped down from the stage knowing he hadn't secured a place for himself in the show, but feeling like part of the cabaret regardless. 

“We do performances every month,” Carmen explained. “Why don't you work on your act and then audition again in the future. You may need some practice, but I think you had a good report with the audience.”

“Thank you very much,” Aziraphale said warmly as he shook her hand. “Harry and I will be tip-top the next time you see us!”

He got well-wishes from some of the other performers as well, still in a variety of states of undress. Yet somehow it wasn't that big of a deal anymore. It had been over an hour and all the nudity had started to blend together. It didn't feel taboo anymore. It just felt like he was talking to people. It made him feel more at home than he'd felt in ages. 

Then there was Crowley. He was busy across the room, giving notes to the various ladies and laughing occasionally. Aziraphale waited for him to be free, waited to at least catch his eye. He wanted to say good-bye and to thank him personally for inviting him here, for encouraging him when he got scared. No one had been that kind to him in quite some time. It might seem a little strange to Crowley, but Aziraphale wanted to at least show a hint of his gratitude. 

But Crowley did not look his way. The minutes ticked by and he just kept talking to everyone else in the room it seemed. Aziraphale's heart sank. Well, what had he been hoping for? A dramatic dip-kiss farewell? No, he wasn't anything special to Crowley. Just another performer he had offered a bit of encouragement to. And now Aziraphale had stood there awkwardly for far too long, petting Harry for reassurance. 

Finally he gave up and loaded the rabbit into his carrier. He wasn't so certain now if he wanted to come back. Maybe no one had actually enjoyed his presence. Maybe it would just be an embarrassment to try and audition again. 

He waved good-bye to the room in general, then left without looking back. 

All week the memories of his audition made Aziraphale's emotions go up and down. Sometimes he felt embarrassed at his lack-luster performance and other times he felt proud that he had gone out and tried something new. He was still undecided if he wanted to go back or not, but for the most part he just let his normal life of retail drudgery take back over.

It was one rainy night a week later when things began to truly change. 

As with anyone who works in a confined environment regularly, Aziraphale had a number of pet peeves that came with his job. One of these came up every time it rained.

He was checking out a customer and going through the usual pleasantries; complimenting their purchase choice, asking for payment, explaining the membership program, etc. Then he had to ask the dreaded question. 

“Would you like a bag?” He waited tensely. 

It was such an innocent question. The woman had bought three sizable books, so she would probably want a means of carrying them. But so many people were surprising in these environmentally conscious times. They'd either have their own bag or just carry the books on their own. 

Except when it rained. 

The woman hemmed and hawed, then looked Aziraphale in the eyes as though he were personally there to judge the worth of her soul. She sighed at last and admitted her own weakness. “Well, yes, but just because it's raining.”

She was the fifth customer in a row to point out the rain. She was also the fifth in a row to slump in disappointment when he pulled out a paper bag to house her books. She was, however, the first to dare to speak the forbidden word.

“Um, do you have any plastic bags? It's just...”

Aziraphale had to work not to roll his eyes. “Yes, the rain. I know, but I'm afraid paper is all we have. Better for the environment, you know.”

That was enough to deter her. After all, who could begrudge making sacrifices for “the environment” in these quiet, slow apocalyptic times? 

Well, quite a few people as it turned out. But at least this one was willing to go away without complaining. 

As the woman left, Aziraphale looked at the clock on his computer screen. He still had half an hour left to his shift. Half an hour more of life it would take from him. Oh well. At least it wasn't the full eight hours he'd had ahead of him that afternoon. Still, he sank his head to the counter-top and did his best not to groan. 

“Is it as bad as all that?” 

The voice shouldn't have been familiar. Aziraphale had only heard it a few times after all, but his head shot up all the same to see Crowley suddenly standing in front of him. 

“Oh! It's you!” Aziraphale immediately cursed himself for his complete lack of subtlety. He sounded like a schoolboy with a crush. And he most certainly wasn't a schoolboy. “Er, what I mean is, can I help you with anything?”

Crowley smirked and looked around the store appraisingly. “I don't know. I'm not really much of a reader. Do you think you can recommend something that will be worth my time?”

A recommendation? Aziraphale smiled excitedly. This was his favorite part of the job, the part that made all the other tedium worth...well made it less tedious at any rate. Aziraphale loved to recommend books for customers, to gauge their interests and then put the perfect tome in their hands. It hand also made him a particular favorite among many of Labyrinth's regulars.

“Hmm.” Aziraphale looked Crowley over with a professional eye. “I'd need to know a bit more about you first. You say you don't like to read much, but do you like other media? Movies? Television? Podcasts? What sort of stories do you enjoy?”

“I dunno,” Crowley said slowly, looking at Aziraphale again. He stretched his neck and there was something lithe and sensual about it, like he was deliberately exposing more skin than he had to. “I suppose I like spy stories and thrillers, movies with a lot of...tension. You know, anything to get the blood pumping.”

And he leered. He outright leered at Aziraphale, leaving the poor bookseller flustered and blushing. Still, it wasn't enough to throw off Aziraphale's professional interest in the conversation. He quickly thought of about a dozen spy thrillers he might mention, but then he dismissed them. No, something was off about Crowley's professed tastes. They didn't fit the brief glimpses of kindness Aziraphale had seen from him.

No, all Aziraphale's instincts, plus a bit of something else, told him that Crowley would like a different kind of book. Something softer. Aziraphale stepped from behind the counter and walked across the store to their small graphic novel section. Comics weren't Aziraphale's favorite form of reading material, but they did have their virtues, one of which was being accessible to those who found full novels intimidating. He picked up a thick, pink volume and held it proudly out to Crowley. 

“Here,” said Aziraphale proudly. “I think this one will be perfect for you!”

It was _The Prince and the Dressmaker_ by Jen Wang. The cover featured the titular pair standing close together while the dressmaker measured the prince. Behind them stood a beautiful woman with long red hair. 

Crowley stared at the book, his expression unreadable. “Is this a love story?”

“Well I suppose you could call it that, among other things.” Aziraphale considered. “It's more about coming into one's own and the characters learning to love themselves as they are. It's really quite sweet. You see, what happens is...”

“Alright, I'll take it. I guess.” Crowley looked away, like he was forcing nonchalance. Aziraphale smiled to himself. It was cute. 

“Very well,” said Aziraphale. He didn't know if it was possible to choose to have a twinkle in one's eye, but he tried very hard to produce one as he watched Crowley on the way back to the counter. He just knew Crowley was going to love his new book and that made Aziraphale very happy and pleased with himself. “So how has your work been going? Preparations for the show all going smoothly?”

Crowley hesitated before he spoke. “That's more Carmen's job than mine. I'm just the host. I won't have much to do before showtime.” 

“Oh. Then what do you...”

Just then several other customers came into the store. Aziraphale hoped they were there mostly to get out of the rain, but they came right up to the counter. Crowley frowned at the line suddenly forming behind him. “Looks like you just got busy. I'd better get out of your hair then.”

He pulled out his wallet and Aziraphale automatically went through the motions of checking him out, although his heart was sinking. Crowley was not the only handsome man to ever come into Labyrinth Books. Aziraphale had tried his hand at flirting before and discovered that it amounted to being a friendly salesperson. He'd recommend a book, make friendly chit-chat, and then never see the gentleman in question again. It wasn't exactly a winning strategy. 

With Crowley it felt different though, perhaps because they knew each other slightly more. Perhaps because Aziraphale hadn't been able to stop thinking about him since they met. Aziraphale really wanted to try. He wanted to take a chance and reach out to this beautiful man who'd fallen into his life. It felt important. 

Just then one of the customers in line spoke to Crowley. “Oh my gosh, I love your sunglasses! What brand are they?”

Crowley (reluctantly?) turned to answer her and Aziraphale saw his chance. He took one of the complimentary bookmarks they gave away with every purchase and quickly scribbled his name and number on it before slipping it into Crowley's book. He was just barely fast enough as an instant later Crowley turned back to face him. His expression was almost apologetic, as though he regretted the interruption between them, as though he regretted that there was a rest of the world to come between them at that moment.

Aziraphale mentally slapped himself to get his head out of the clouds. It was embarrassing how much he was willing to read into Crowley's every facial twitch as romantic poetry. He had to stay practical, guarded. After all, he didn't even know if Crowley was attracted to men. He could be straight. Married. Straight AND married. It was best to keep expectations lowered and keep romantic hopes to a minimum. Everything would hurt less that way. 

Then Crowley handed over his credit card and Aziraphale fell all over himself to accept it and “stealthily” read Crowley's full name on it.

Anthony. His crush's name was Anthony J. Crowley. What a perfect name. If Aziraphale were in a cartoon little hearts would be floating from his frame right now. 

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said with a bit more warmth than usual as he handed over Crowley's receipt. Their fingers brushed as Crowley accepted it and Aziraphale couldn't help but smile slightly at the contact that probably meant nothing to Crowley. (Stay safe. Keep those expectations low.)

“Thanks for the book,” Crowley replied with a smirk. “I...I look forward to reading it.” He picked up _The Prince and the Dressmaker_ and turned to leave. Then he turned back, his smirk still in place. “Actually, could I get a bag?”

Oh, no.

“Because, you see,”

Please, no.

“You may not have noticed,”

Why?!

“But it's raining outside.”

Aziraphale froze for an instant as he resisted the urge to smash his head into the counter-top. This was why crushes were a bad idea. They always led to pain. Still, he was a professional and he would...

Crowley started laughing. “You really do get that one too often, don't you?”

Aziraphale couldn't help it. He blushed. He stumbled over his words as he tried to think of some witty response. His crush deepened by an order of magnitude. And it was all because he'd just seen Crowley smile, not smirk, not grin, just genuinely smile. Finally he managed to stutter, “D-do let me know what you think of the book!”

“I'll see if I can find the time,” Crowley said as he stuffed said book into his jacket. He glanced back up at Aziraphale, as though there was something more he wanted to say, but the next customer was already asking Aziraphale a question and it clearly would be awkward for Crowley to linger. Instead he gave a small wave good-bye and turned to leave into the rainy night. 

Aziraphale watched him go for as long as he was in sight. He could only hope he would see him again, and soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale has more guts than he admits to himself. And Crowley does indeed have a secret love of romances.
> 
> Please leave a review! They mean a lot to me and lead to faster updates!
> 
> Say hi to me on tumblr at comicgeekery!


	4. First Date?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley finally responds to Aziraphale's advances. Things go a bit faster than Aziraphale was expecting.

**Chapter Four**

It was a hectic week before Aziraphale heard from Crowley again. Things were getting busier in the store. It was November now and the Halloween displays had all been swapped out for generic autumnal themes. The shelves were getting fuller than usual as the owners prepared for the Christmas rush. It made everything very tight and breathless, waiting for a storm that would throw everything into chaos. 

There was also some early snowfall that made everything quite pretty, but also hard to navigate. Aziraphale had to pull out his sturdy winter gear, but that didn't stop him from slipping and sliding regularly as he made his way to and from work. 

Throughout it all Aziraphale tried to keep his mind on day-to-day matters. He failed rather spectacularly anytime he was near his phone. He checked it constantly for missed calls or texts. He had urges to check his phone _while_ using it. He waited and hoped and checked it again and again. Then, as the days went by, his hopes started to dwindle. Perhaps Crowley really was straight and married. With a dozen children. And a home with a mortgage. Perhaps he was as unavailable as it was possible for him to be and that wink had meant nothing. 

Aziraphale tried not to think of scenarios where it was just that he wasn't appealing enough. 

He was on the point of giving up hope entirely when Crowley finally texted.

**C: Hey, this is Crowley, the bloke from the cabaret. Sorry for the delay. I only just saw your number.**

Aziraphale got the message about fifteen minutes after it was sent. It took him another five to get over his sudden wave of giddiness and decide how to respond. Maybe a bit of teasing? 

**A: Glad to hear from you. Did you only just open the book?**

**C: ...Maybe. It's been a busy week! I'm reading it now though. It's not half-bad.**

Aziraphale grinned and his cheeks grew warm. He had the feeling that Crowley liked the book more than he was letting on. He always knew when people were enjoying what they were reading. He asked how far Crowley had gotten and Crowley described the scene where the prince first wears a beautiful gown made by the dressmaker. 

**C: It's a nice dress. Suits him. I just hope the king isn't too awful when he finds out about his son. That stuff's always rough and I see enough kids getting pushed back in the closet by their folks in real life. I don't need it in my reading material too. **

**C: Can you just tell me if it this thing has a happy ending? I don't want to waste my time with it otherwise.**

It was normally against Aziraphale's personal policy to give readers spoilers about their books, but he could understand Crowley's concern. The real world _was_ hard enough already. People like them didn't need the additional burdens of fiction.

**A: Don't fret. It has a very happy ending. I wouldn't recommend anything else to you.**

**C: Really? Why's that? Have I not been wearing enough black around you?**

**A: L.O.L. No, you just seem like the sort who likes happy stories. I have a good instinct for these things.**

**C: Huh. Well, I suppose you had a lucky guess. Maybe. I still haven't finished the book. I'll let you know if I still like it when I'm done.**

Aziraphale paused before he replied. He didn't normally have a bold bone in his body, but he also wasn't generally flirting with his massive crush of about a month. Perhaps some boldness was just what the situation called for.

**A: Perhaps we could discuss it over coffee?**

He pressed send then immediately put his phone aside and hid his face behind a pillow on his bed. He was mortified just thinking about Crowley's possible responses. What if he said no? _What if he said yes?!_

It was several minutes before Crowley replied. Several agonizing, doubt-filled, breath-smothering minutes. Then Aziraphale's phone pinged and his arm shot out it before Aziraphale had even consciously registered the sound. 

**C: Only if I like the ending.**

Oh, dear. Was he serious? This texting was worse than Crowley's sunglasses!

**A: And if you don't?**

**C: Then you have to take me out to dinner instead.**

**C: Fair warning: this may motivate me to be less than truthful.**

Aziraphale's temperature immediately went up ten degrees and he dropped his phone like it was hot. Crowley...Crowley _liked_ him. He was _flirting_ with him. Aziraphale was immensely grateful that they weren't speaking in person, because he suddenly felt himself to be a completely tongue-tied mess. What was he supposed to do now? How could he follow that up? He needed to say something cool and suave. Something that would make him seem cool and interesting and definitely someone worth dating. 

He stared at his phone, now lying face-down on his bed. The minutes ticked by. He had to answer soon! Crowley would be wondering what happened to him. A spiraling sort of panic started to set in.

His phone beeped again. He picked it up nervously.

**C: Sorry, was that too much? Didn't make you throw your phone in the bin, did I?**

Something softened in Aziraphale. Was Crowley nervous too? He always seemed so cool and confident, but maybe...

**A: No, nothing's wrong. I was just thinking that dinner would be nice.**

There was another long pause in the conversation. Then, to Aziraphale's surprise, his phone rang. It was Crowley's number. He answered it with his heart pounding. 

“Hello?”

“Hey. It's me. I mean, um, it's Crowley.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Yes, yes quite. I saw that when I picked up.”

“Right,” Crowley said, then more quietly added, “of course you did.”

They were both silent for a long moment. Then they both spoke at once. 

“So did you—”

“I was just—”

“Oh! So sorry would you like...”

“No, you can...”

They laughed. Both nervously. Both full of hope.

“I insist,” Aziraphale finally said. “You go ahead.” 

“It's nothing,” Crowley said. Aziraphale pictured him shrugging and stuffing his hands in his pockets. “It's just that I've had a long day and I haven't eaten. I was wondering if you wanted to grab a quick slice of pizza or something?”

Aziraphale glanced at the time. It was a little after nine o'clock. He had an opening shift the next day. He really should be getting ready for bed...

“Yes,” he said firmly. “That sounds delightful.”

They agreed to meet at a sizable pizzeria called Cindy's because it was near them both and open, not because of the relative quality of the food. Aziraphale winced as he went inside and took in the overwhelming scents of grease and cheese, the florescent lights, and the décor that hadn't been updated since the mid 1990s at least. 

He'd had time to think about the situation more since he and Crowley had hung up and Aziraphale was frankly shocked at how audacious he was being. For all the butterflies in stomach, Aziraphale was still aware that he barely knew Crowley. Was it a mistake to be meeting with him so soon? Perhaps they should have stuck to texting for a few weeks, learned a bit about each other and nervously fluttered around their feelings for each other until one of them finally had the courage to ask the other on a date.

And that date would be to someplace nice, not a cheap pizzeria in the middle of the night.

_While we're fantasizing,_ he thought, _why don't we give ourselves a nice raise so we can actually go to fancy restaurants? And a nice suit that we wear with a bow-tie?_

Aziraphale tried to calm himself. He knew he was a victim of the heartless world of capitalism, but he didn't want to be so hard on himself. After all, he was the only ally he had.

Crowley was there when Aziraphale arrived at Cindy's. He was sprawled out in one of the corner booths even though it was sized for six. Luckily there were barely any other customers in the restaurant, so there was no one there to object. He was wearing all black again, including the same black leather jacket and dark sunglasses. But what really caught Aziraphale's eye was the fact that he was reading _The Prince and the Dressmaker_. He looked engrossed and quite far through it. Aziraphale's heart swelled. For the first time in a long time he felt that he was exactly where he needed to be.

He walked up to the table and waited for Crowley to notice him. Aziraphale was reluctant to interrupt his reading. A few seconds later Crowley glanced up and quickly marked his place in the book. Aziraphale was relieved that he used a bookmark. He doubted he could have stayed if Crowley was the sort to dog-ear pages. 

“Er, hello!” Aziraphale said a bit nervously. “How are you enjoying the story?”

Crowley grimaced. “Everyone's just found out the prince cross-dresses. It's the sad part. I always hate it when stories have a sad part.”

“That's understandable,” Aziraphale said sympathetically. “But I promise, it's worth it to keep going.”

Crowley stared at him for a quiet second. “I'll try to keep that in mind. Thanks.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, do you want to order some sub-par pizza? I'll treat. It's the least I could do for dragging you out here so late.”

“That's perfectly alright. I...” _I wanted to see you._ “I could use the variety in my life.” Aziraphale looked away sheepishly. He indicated the counter. “Shall we?”

They ordered a pizza to split, half covered in meat and half covered in vegetables, then sat back down in the booth. Aziraphale immediately noticed a problem. The table they were at was the nicest the restaurant had to offer, but it was also the largest. He and Crowley were sat on opposite sides of the circle and it was like they were in a business meeting (or perhaps something more Arthurian). Aziraphale wasn't sure how he felt about it. Of course, a large part of him wanted to be closer to Crowley, but his cautious side was grateful for the distance. Sitting next to each other seemed far to intimate for how little they currently knew each other. 

That meant the time had come for the part Aziraphale dreaded the most: small talk. He stared at his hands and twiddled his fingers as he desperately tried to think of something to talk about. Should he ask about the cabaret? Was that too risque to talk about in public? Was there anymore he could say about Crowley's book? Should he start off with an amusing anecdote about himself? Wait, come to think of it, had anything interesting ever happened to him in his entire life?

“So...” Crowley began, “how's Harry been? Happily hopping about in your flat?”

It took Aziraphale a moment to comprehend the question. He'd been far from thinking about his pet rabbit. “Oh! Yes, he's doing quite well. I've been training him to stay still in my top hat for the next show. He's getting lots of carrots! Well, not too many carrots. That's actually bad for rabbits. But he's coming along very nicely!”

Crowley looked thoughtful. “You always seem to light up when you talk things related to your magic show. Are you really that into it?”

Aziraphale blushed. “Well...Yes, I suppose I am. I've always liked pleasant surprises, both getting them and giving them. And what is stage magic if not a series of pleasant surprises?”

“You must be magical then.”

“What?” Aziraphale stared at him with confusion and a bit of alarm. “What do you mean?” he asked as casually as he could.

Crowley tilted his head and smiled slightly. “I mean you've been a series of pleasant surprises since I met you. It's been...nice. Interesting. I usually hate surprises.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale laughed. “I'll be sure to pull a coin from your ear at some point then. Or maybe I shouldn't, if you don't like surprises?”

“Hmm.” Crowley bit his lip like he was trying not to laugh. “Bit of a conundrum. How about you just surprise me? About...whether or not you'll surprise me. That sounds about right, yeah?”

Aziraphale smiled. “Certainly. I'll try to most unexpected with the coin that may or may not appear!”

They both chuckled and something was immediately easier between them. The pizza arrived and they made pleasant conversation where they agreed that it was too greasy and terrible. That didn't stop them from eating most of it though. They didn't stop smiling even as they went through a large pile of napkins. 

Things were going...surprisingly well. It made Aziraphale nervous. Possibilities made him worry. Hope caused him stress. He took a deep breath and asked the first truly personal question of the night.

"What...What are your thoughts on religion?"

Crowley froze, just for a second but Aziraphale could still tell. Then he raised an eyebrow. "Quite a question for a first date, don't you think?"

"Oh, are we on a date?" Aziraphale asked, suddenly perking up. Then he blushed and tried to contain himself. "I mean, I just wasn't sure. I'm glad. I just, um, jolly good!" Right. Back to the topic at hand. "It's just that I grew up in a...very religious family. Extended family, really. It was, um, intense." 

He looked away from Crowley. He could feel him scrutinizing him. What was he thinking? "I cut ties with them a few years ago. I don't mind faith generally these days, in fact I'd hardly call myself an atheist, but if religion is particularly important to you..." Aziraphale took a deep breath, unsure how to finish the sentence.

He was startled by the sudden feeling of a hand on his shoulder. It was Crowley. He'd scooted closer around the booth. Crowley who had never touched him before, who had never done anything more than smirk and flirt. He was suddenly looking at Aziraphale very seriously. His hand felt so warm through Aziraphale's sweater. The grip was just a bit too tight.

"Listen," he said, sounding more sincere than Aziraphale had ever heard, "we all have our traumas. It's okay. Just as long as you don't let it hold you back." He let go of Aziraphale's shoulder and leaned back in his seat. When he spoke again it was once more with a deliberate nonchalance. "I promise I won't bring up religion around you. Won't much when you're not around either. I'm a pretty solid agnostic anyway."

Listening to him, Aziraphale got the impression there was more to it than Crowley was saying, but Aziraphale didn't press. He didn't want his own past delved into just yet either, after all. For now, this would do. They went back to their pizza in relative silence and Aziraphale only fretted a little bit that he had made everything awkward. 

Soon it was nearly eleven and the pizza was as finished as it was going to be. Aziraphale felt a little sick from how much he had eaten, but Crowley looked as skinny and cool as ever. Aziraphale wondered if he did this sort of thing often. Perhaps he would get out of a late-night show at the cabaret and he and the performers would celebrate a job well done with a late-night meal. Or maybe they would go to the bars for a night of wild revelry. It sounded hedonistic to Aziraphale. And also, perhaps, just a bit wonderful.

Not for the first time, Aziraphale wondered what someone as cool and interesting as Crowley was doing pursuing as awkward and introverted as himself. Luckily, he had the good sense not to ask that question out loud. If Crowley was wrong to be interested in Aziraphale, then Aziraphale was certainly not going to correct him. 

Crowley pulled a few bills from his wallet and tossed them on the table. “Shall we head off then? I can give you a lift. My car is just down the street.”

It wasn't a huge favor to offer, but Aziraphale still felt charmed as if he were a Victorian lady being offered a ride in a gentleman's personal carriage. It felt inordinately kind and maybe just a little bit scandalous. 

He felt slightly different when he saw Crowley's car.

It was a Bentley. An honest-to-goodness Bentley. Aziraphale didn't know much about cars, but he knew he was staring at one of the most expensive vehicles he'd ever seen in his life. It looked like it could only be a few years old, it was in such fine condition. There was barely a speck of dirt on it! 

Looking at it, Aziraphale felt like a complete fool. He had assumed that part of the reason he and Crowley had met at the pizzeria was because it within both their budgets. He hadn't realized that Crowley was actually, well he had to be, filthy rich. 

Aziraphale took a few deep breaths. “That's...That's your car, then?”

Crowley grinned unironically. “She's a beauty, isn't she? Got her a few years ago and she's been my baby ever since. I...” He looked like he wanted to say more, but he quickly cut himself off. “Anyway, hop in. I promise she'll give you the smoothest ride of your life!” 

Aziraphale opened the passenger door, feeling enormously self-conscious of any dirt he might have on his shoes. The inside of the Bentley was as spotless as the outside. Crowley had to take meticulous care of it. It just made Aziraphale feel even more like he didn't belong.

It only took a few minutes to get to Aziraphale's flat. Still, by the time they arrived he was nearly ready to jump out of the car whether it was parked or not. That was why he didn't hear Crowley when he spoke.

“Sorry, what was that?” Aziraphale asked distractedly.

Apparently, regardless of his aesthetic, driving at night while wearing sunglasses was too much for Crowley. He had taken them off for the ride. As a result Aziraphale was able to clearly see the moment that Crowley's face went from a suggestive smolder to a flustered blush. Crowley quickly looked away, cleared his throat, and tried again.

“I was just wondering...if I could come up for a bit?”

Oh. _Oh!_ Aziraphale felt his mouth form a perfect circle as he grasped frantically for words even within the confines of his own mind. Crowley wanted to...and then...Already?! 

“I...you can't just...Oh, my,” Aziraphale stuttered.

Crowley's smirk slowly faded and he looked away from Aziraphale. He looked...ashamed? Or maybe he was just frustrated.

“Right, you're not that kind of bloke. I should have realized. Sorry.”

Bizarrely, Aziraphale had to fight down the urge to apologize too. Then his head cleared a bit and he realized there was something he very much wanted to know. “Was that all you wanted?” He swallowed. “Sex? Is that why you invited me out? Why you came back to the bookstore?”

He felt a little sick at the thought. Perhaps it was flattering on some level that someone so attractive was interested in him, but it put Aziraphale's weeks-long crush into an embarrassing light. Why had he wasted so much time trying to be interesting? Or fantasizing about holding his hand? How childish. Of course that wasn't what a cool, rich, night owl like Crowley would be interested in. Was sex all that Aziraphale was good for?

“Nrk.” Crowley choked a bit and Aziraphale glanced up at him. “That wasn't...I just thought...Oh, bugger. I've messed this up. Can we just pretend the last minute or so didn't happen? I swear, I haven't just been using you for your body or whatever. I just...I'm used to these things going a certain way and...look can we just start over?”

Aziraphale stared at him and Crowley swallowed thickly, clearly not enjoying the attention, but not flinching from it either. He held steady as Aziraphale evaluated him. Finally, Aziraphale took a deep breath and nodded. His feelings were still there. He wanted to hear what Crowley had to say.

Crowley sighed with relief and smiled slightly. “What I meant to say was, thank you for coming out with me tonight, Aziraphale. You're a real angel. I had a lovely time and it would great if I could see you again sometime. Anywhere you like. Just let me know.” He looked away and fiddled with his sunglasses, hooked over the edge of his shirt. “There. How was that?”

“Much better.” Aziraphale felt warm inside. Crowley looked so self-conscious right now, so nervous at trying to win him over. It made Aziraphale feel important. It cut through his usual sad haze and reminded him what it felt like to matter. Just how did Crowley already have such a strong hold over him and his heart? How did he make his feelings bounce up and down like this?

He had called him an angel. Aziraphale was going to remember that for a long time.

“So...Could we have a second date?” Crowley asked hopefully. 

“I think that sounds lovely.” Aziraphale smiled then reached over and gave Crowley's hand a little squeeze. Crowley's hand was chilled from the November night air, but Aziraphale always ran hot. Together they made a warmth that made Aziraphale sigh with pleasure. “Will I see you soon?” he asked.

Crowley was staring at him now, slack-jawed and bewildered. “Yeah,” he said, almost unconsciously. “You'll see me the next second I can.” He leaned closer to Aziraphale, but then checked himself and pulled back again. Had he been about to kiss him? “Thanks for...Thanks for coming out. With me. This has been...nice.”

“It has,” Aziraphale agreed. He finally removed his hand from Crowley's. The tingle of that warmth was still there. This hadn't been a perfect night, but it was one with a lot of potential. Aziraphale said good-night and walked to his flat with a smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! That was a close one, Crowley! Things are going nicely despite Aziraphale's apprehensions, but for how long? There's more going on than there seems.
> 
> If anyone's curious, The Prince and the Dressmaker is a real book that I definitely recommend. Crowley enjoys it so you should give it a try!
> 
> Once again, comments give me life and I am happy to chat with anyone on tumblr under comicgeekery!


	5. Manny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look at Crowley's life and his own unique difficulties.

**Chapter Five**

Crowley cursed himself out several times on his drive home. He had almost ruined everything! In fact, he had almost ruined everything several times over throughout the course of the evening. First by inviting Aziraphale out in the middle of the night, then by inviting him to a disgusting grease-pit of all places, and then to top it all off he had actually tried to get first date sex out of the most modest man Crowley had ever met! It was obvious: Crowley was an idiot through and through. 

The thing was, he just wanted to get closer to Aziraphale. He wanted to show him attention and make him feel cared for, and sex was the only way Crowley knew how to express those those things. Because he was apparently an emotionally stunted horny teenager in an adult's body.

Aziraphale was just so nice! His smile, his blushes, his unexpectedly bold flirtations. Crowley had never had someone show such a guileless interest in him before. It was...flattering. Aziraphale hadn't cared that Crowley worked at a cabaret and he hadn't asked once why Crowley wore sunglasses all the time. Instead Aziraphale just seemed charmed by Crowley and his presence.

Then there was the book. _The Prince and the Dressmaker_ was a surprisingly sweet story. In truth Crowley had mostly just bought it because he wanted an excuse to talk to Aziraphale again. He hadn't considered that he might actually enjoy it. But he had. It was the story of a prince who wanted to get out of potential arranged marriages and get the chance to wear beautiful dresses. He wanted to escape the life he'd been born into and become someone new, someone he'd chosen to be.

In some ways, it was alarming how much Crowley related to the story. Or perhaps he just projected himself onto it too much.

He'd been surprised that night when Aziraphale had abruptly brought up religion. He'd played it cool, but the question had hit close to home. Literally. Crowley's 'family' didn't follow any mainstream religions, but they'd certainly had their own...philosophy for raising him. Crowley shuddered and quickly pushed the memories away before they could overwhelm him. He did not need a panic attack while he was driving. Particularly not while he was driving the one thing in the world that he truly loved. And had stolen.

Well, in truth Crowley didn't think of what he'd done to the Bentley as stealing. It was more like liberating. After all, that monster Dagon hadn't deserved a car this nice. And what were they going to do? Report Crowley to the police? That would open a nice can of worms! The things Crowley could report all of _them_ for...if he ever worked up the courage to, that is. 

But enough about all of that! The point was, Crowley had gone on a date, nearly ruined, and somehow charmed his way into an invitation for another one with a very charming, beautiful man. Overall things were going in Crowley's favor! He tried to focus on the good things as he pulled into the driveway of a fancy house, large enough to make most people gawk. 

Then he kept driving until he was parked at the side of the house's sizable garage. He wasn't allowed to park in the garage itself, but off to the side wasn't too bad. He went around to the boot of the Bentley and took out the cover he liked to throw over the car when it wasn't in use. It wasn't like he earned enough to have any dings and scratches it might get repaired. 

Once the cover was in place Crowley sighed with satisfaction and stretched a bit. All of a sudden he felt very tired. It wasn't surprising. He'd had a long day. And tomorrow would be another one. They were all long days really. It was a miracle, er, that is, it was lucky that he got any time off at all. Oh well, no time to sulk about it. He was off to bed. 

Unfortunately, Crowley soon discovered, again, that going to bed and actually sleeping were different things. He was still too wired from the date and thoughts of Aziraphale, too preoccupied with the man's smell and hair and smile. He was just...charming is what he was. And he seemed to like Crowley, genuinely _like_ him. Crowley wasn't used to adults liking him. He wasn't used to getting second chances.

Finally, after an hour of tossing and turning, Crowley turned his light back on and reached for his book. He'd been reluctant to continue _The Prince and the Dressmaker_ because he was at a sad part where everything was going wrong for the main characters and it was just the sort of thing that made his heart sink painfully inside his chest. But he couldn't sleep and he couldn't stop thinking about Aziraphale and the way he'd touched his hand. Crowley needed something to distract him. Besides, Aziraphale had promised there would be a happy ending.

If only someone could say the same about Crowley's own life. 

Then he got to the end of the book. It did indeed have a happy ending, one where everything worked out and the prince got to wear his beloved dresses for the world to see. And his family...his family more than supported him. Crowley had never had a happy ending make him want to cry so much before. 

His alarm went off on his phone at six in the morning. Too early for anyone to be awake in his opinion. He left his across the room from his bed because he had a tendency to turn it off and go back to sleep if he didn't have to actually get up to deal with it. He'd gotten in trouble that way more than once.

He felt better after a quick shower, dressing, and getting a small breakfast with some precious coffee. Still, Crowley had to check the clock regularly and take a few deep breaths every time to prepare himself for work mode and the loss of his freedom for the rest of his daylight hours. (It was fine, he told himself, it was autumn, the days were short now anyway.) 

Crowley walked into the main house's kitchen and took one last deep breath, steadying himself against the counter. Okay. It was showtime. 

First up was breakfast. He cracked some eggs in a bowl and started whisking. He hummed to himself while he did it, but didn't play any music from his phone like he really wanted to. That had gotten Crowley before. A lot of things had gotten him in trouble in this household, and they weren't even interesting things. No, instead it was stuff like playing music too loud, painting his nails, letting his hair grow out too much. It was like he was a bloody teenager. At least they didn't mind that he preferred to wear all black. 

Soon the eggs were cooking into some delicious-looking omelets and he'd begun the ridiculous process of taking out several fresh oranges and juicing the hell out of them. No patch of pulp was left unscathed. All so that one kid didn't have to drink sub-par orange juice.

Speaking of which, Crowley suddenly heard the patter of small feet in the hallway above him. It seemed little Warlock was up early. Crowley listened intently to hear which direction the footsteps would go. Luckily the kid decided to come down the stairs directly rather than waking up his parents, which was something else Crowley had gotten in trouble for. The Dowlings had made it very clear that they woke up at 10 AM and nothing was to disturb them before then. Warlock had learned this after a few strict talking-tos (with only slightly raised voices...), but he was still just a child with a naive fondness for his parents. It made him willing to risk trouble anyways. Crowley could relate.

Anyway, today at least was starting smoothly. Things were still a little shaky in the Dowling household after the Incident last week. That was why Crowley had to be extra on his toes. He didn't relish the idea of losing his job AND his home just because some rich snoots didn't approve of the way he was raising their child. 

Then Warlock came into the kitchen and Crowley smiled. The child was still in his pajamas and was rubbing one eye out of sleepiness. He looked like something out of a commercial, he was so cute. Crowley was never the best at resisting his impulses, so he didn't bother to hold back as he picked up Warlock and gave him a tight hug.

“Good morning, my little demon-in-training!” Crowley said with smirk. “Did you cause trouble in your dreams last night?”

Warlock nodded and grinned right back at Crowley. “I was a goose and I took everybody's stuff!”

“Of course you did.” And Crowley tussled the boy's hair in satisfaction. He was never quite sure if Warlock actually dreamed about being a menace to society, but at the least he was always happy to make up a story for Crowley in the morning. It was one of the many rituals they had that the Dowlings never got to witness. Too bad for them. 

Crowley had been Warlock's nanny (or 'manny' as some unfortunates insisted on calling him) for three years now. He'd seen the tyke grow from a soft-brained toddler into an energetic, personality-having young boy. Or at least that was what everyone was calling Warlock for now. Crowley had his suspicions that the whole 'boy' label might be more flexible than either of Warlock's parents were comfortable admitting. Suggesting otherwise was yet another thing that had gotten Crowley in trouble in the past. The Dowlings were extremely dull and heteronormative in their sensibilities. Crowley grit his teeth at the thought. 

But he needed this job, he reminded himself. He needed the job and Warlock needed _someone_ who was actually in his corner.

“Alright, time for breakfast,” Crowley said to shake himself out of his thoughts. He carried Warlock to the kitchen table and plopped him down into one of the seats before hurrying back to the stove just in time to flip the omelet. 

Warlock was a good kid overall. He ate his breakfast without complaint even though it had spinach in it and drank every drop of his labor-intensive juice. Afterwards they went into the play room to watch some cartoons. It was nice, peaceful even. 

Then Crowley had to get Warlock dressed for the day. He picked out a designer shirt and some trousers then laid them out on Warlock's bed. 

Warlock took one look at them and shook his head. “I don't wanna.”

“You don't want to what?” Crowley asked, as if he didn't already know the answer. 

“I don't wanna wear trousers,” he explained while crossing his arms and pouting. “I want a costume day!”

And there it was, Crowley's one-time attempt at kindness coming back to haunt him once again. It was the Incident that had him on such shaky ground with the Dowlings. They had hired him to be a strong, masculine influence in their son's life not to “make him into a poof”.

They really should have checked his references a bit more thoroughly before they hired him. 

“Sorry kid,” Crowley said reluctantly. “You know what your parents said; no more costume days.”

And Warlock did know that. He'd known it for weeks. That didn't stop them from having this same argument nearly everyday. “But I want to be a princess!” he whined. 

_Me too, kid_ Crowley thought. _At least on the weekends_ But out loud all he could say was, “Then you're a princess. Just one who wears trousers. Like Princess Jasmine, yeah?”

Warlock considered this argument carefully. He was clearly suspicious. Jasmine might wear trousers, but Warlock was also smart enough to have a sense of when he was being tricked. “If I'm like Jasmine...then I want a _blue_ shirt.”

Crowley sighed with relief and practically dove for the dresser before Warlock could consider the matter any further. He hated manipulating the kid like this, but until he was old enough to actually keep a secret and not immediately blab to his parents that nanny had let him spend the afternoon in a dress, then this was the way things had to be.

Maybe one day Warlock would find a dressmaker of his own. The thought made Crowley's heart lurch. 

After Warlock was dressed they played at less gender-based manipulative games. Things like “cleaning our room can be fun!” and “don't you love brushing your teeth?” Crowley looked forward to future years where he could play “homework isn't torture at all!” and “let's study the impact of classism on your privileged little life!”

They took a break from chores-games when Warlock's tutor showed up. Dr. Sable was an alright sort as far as Crowley could tell. He'd given Crowley the creeps when they first met, but now Crowley liked to think they had a bit of an unspoken bond. After all, it was Dr. Sable who had referred Crowley to Carmine at the cabaret. That was enough for Crowley to forgive the fact that Dr. Sable tended to work with Warlock well past lunch-time. Crowley just had to keep an eye on the clock was all.

That was what Crowley did in the midst of his other chores. Because of course he wasn't able to take a break while Warlock was at his lessons. The Dowlings were modern enough that didn't have “servants” exactly. No, Crowley was the only one outside the family to live on their property. They had a cleaning service come in once a week to take care of the whole house, but Crowley was still expected to “help out here and there”.

So, while Warlock learned his letters, Crowley went around cleaning up the kitchen and the play room, doing the laundry, and tending to the houseplants (aggressively). He tried not to grumble about it all. This was, after all, the best-paying job he'd ever had. It was certainly much better than being a barista most days. He just resented all the extra work he was expected to do. He had to fight tooth and nail to keep his evenings free from unexpected overtime. And despite it all he still made less than most nannies in his position would. That was the consequence of Crowley being a “manny” with no prior experience under his belt. 

Still, at least Crowley had some pleasant thoughts to distract him that morning. Aziraphale was still very pressing on his mind. That sweet, charming man. He was so genuine, so delicate yet strong. With his bright blond hair, heavenly blue eyes, and delightfully soft skin. 

He remembered the way Aziraphale had touched his hand. It was so warm, so kind, so full of affection. Crowley couldn't recall ever being touched that way before. His dates were usually just vehicles to get to the bedroom. He'd never known someone who just, well, _liked_ him. Crowley didn't like to admit it, but the thought was making him swoon a bit. 

What if this actually became something? What if this chemistry between them actually built up into a _relationship_?

Crowley smiled to himself as he watered the household plants. He wouldn't normally let them see his tender side, but today he was feeling optimistic. In fact, he was going to reach out to Aziraphale right now. No reason not to let the fellow know he was thinking about him. 

Unless...was that still too fast? Did Aziraphale need some space before they spoke again? He'd mentioned that he had an opening shift today. Would Crowley be bothering him at work? And what would he even say to him? _I can't stop thinking about your hands? I wish I had kissed you last night? Can I see you again, right now?_ It was all too much, too vulnerable, and far too soon. He couldn't reach out like that if he was serious about taking things slowly!

Crowley bit his lip in frustration. What did people talk about when they weren't angling for sex? The weather? Politics? Satan help him, sports?! They were all obvious no-gos. He took out his phone and stared at in frustration. What could he say that basically said “I'm not hurrying you, but I want you to know that I like you and would like to keep interacting with you”?

There was nothing else for it. Crowley would need to consult an outside source. Unfortunately he didn't have much in the way of friends exactly, but he did have the next best thing: a therapist. He opened his e-mail and composed a quick message.

_Hey Mary, _

_Remember the bookstore bloke? We had a date and it went well enough that we both want another. (I mean, naturally he wants more. Have you looked at me lately?) But he wants to take things slow and I have no idea what to say to that. I mean, obviously slow is fine. I'm not some sex maniac. I'm just, well, feeling a bit lost I guess? He's not someone I work with, but he's also not someone I'm going to take to bed anytime soon. And I just...ARGH! What do I even talk about with him? Am I really that boring? Am I just some sexy as sin bastard with a great car and no personality? I don't even know anymore._

_What am I supposed to do?_

_Hope your day is going better than mine._

_Crowley_

He pressed send before he could think better of it, because that was the only way he could communicate with his therapist; quickly and without room for second thoughts. The e-mailing helped too. In person Mary tended to ramble on quite a bit, but when she wrote she tended to get to the point. It wasn't the most conventional therapeutic relationship but Crowley was grateful for it anyway. It was one of the few things that made him feel less alone in his life. 

That done, Crowley went to get back to cleaning up. Soon he'd start making lunch and Warlock _would_ eat it on time no matter what Dr. Sable said they were in the middle of. As it turned out, Crowley didn't have the chance. Dr. Sable came into the playroom looking unusually perturbed. 

“Have you got a moment, Mr. Crowley?” he asked. “I think Warlock needs you.”

Just then they both winced as they something crash in the library where Warlock had his lessons. He was also yelling indistinctly, apparently in full tantrum mode. Crowley clenched his jaw. He wanted to know what was bothering the poor child, but he also had an immediate stress reaction, knowing that the Dowlings were likely to hear the racket and blame it on him. Crowley rushed into the library to see how bad the damage was. 

Inside Warlock had clearly been worked up for a bit. His worksheets were torn and he had knocked a shelf-worth of books to the floor. He was now yelling his head off while dropping one book after another. 

“What happened?” Crowley asked Dr. Sable accusingly. Warlock still had the occasional temper tantrum, but it was rarely anything this bad without a reason. 

Dr. Sable spread his hands helplessly. “We were just going over his maths when he asked me why he couldn't grow his hair out. I tried to explain that had nothing to do with the lesson, but the next thing I knew he was yelling and crying. Now can you fix him? We're getting behind schedule!” 

Crowley felt his eyes go wide and he was grateful for his sunglasses as he literally growled at Dr. Sable. “Bollocks to your schedule! Get out of here before you make anything worse!”

And Dr. Sable did leave. But first he did something strange. He looked Crowley in the eye...and he smiled. It was quick and small but there all the same.

Just what was going on? Had he actually gotten Warlock upset on purpose? Crowley didn't have time to puzzle it out he hurried to Warlock's side. 

“Shh, shh! It's okay,” he whispered. “It's all alright. The mean doctor is gone now. Talk to me. Please. Tell me what's wrong.” Slowly he knelt down and wrapped his arms around the child.

Warlock's face was still red from crying. He began to take deeper breaths as he leaned into Crowley's chest. Finally he was able to speak. 

“Crowley, why does everyone think I'm weird?” He sniffed. “What's wrong with dresses and long hair and pretty things?”

Oh dear, Crowley could feel his heart wobbling. “Now, stop that. You're not weird. Pretty things are fantastic and plenty of people know that.”

“Yeah, girls,” Warlock said bitterly. “But I'm a _boy_. Mum and Dad say I'm turning into a...a...poof and that's bad and I'm bad and...and...” He began to cry again.

“No! No, dear there's nothing wrong with you! I promise there are plenty of boys just like you!” What Crowley really wanted to say was that _he_ liked pretty things too. That he'd worn his hair long in the past and liked to paint his nails and he wore dresses sometimes as more than just 'costumes'. But he couldn't say any of that, not without risking his job. And he hated it, hated the way he had to hold back and be a 'proper' man for people he didn't even like while a helpless child had his heart broken because he thought that he was alone in the world.

Warlock continued to sniffle. “Where are they? Where are the boys like me?”

Then a thought occurred to Crowley. He recalled a warm smile and the book he'd read last night. Aziraphale could help them. Of course he could.

“Get your coat,” Crowley said firmly. “We're going shopping.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's up to Aziraphale to save the day!
> 
> Thank you all for reading. Please leave your thoughts in the comments and I'll respond as soon as possible!


	6. A Book and a Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley gets some help; then Aziraphale needs some.

**Chapter Six**

Aziraphale was in the middle of about six tasks. It was a Friday and unusually busy for this early in the day. Christmas shopping had begun and sales were already picking up. He was trying to shelve a cart full of books while also helping every customer who needed help, both in person and on the phone. To his dismay, Aziraphale was starting to realize he'd earned himself a bit of a reputation among the regular customers. 

“Oh! There he is, Marge! Come on, have Azeer...Azra...Have him help you! He always recommends the best books!” 

Two women came up to him as he tried unsuccessfully to alphabetize a few novels into the Ns of fiction. Aziraphale wasn't the best with faces generally, but he vaguely recognized one of them as the woman he had sold _The Soul of an Octopus_ to the previous week. He put on his customer service smile.

“How may I help you, ladies?” he asked politely. He turned to the one who couldn't pronounce his name. “Did you enjoy learning about octopuses?”

The woman smiled and giggled. “Oh yes! It was such a delightful and interesting book! Made me want to go to an aquarium right away. It was just what I needed!” She indicated her friend. “Do you think you could find something for Marge here? She's in a bit of a reading rut right now and I told her that you...”

The rest of her words were lost on Aziraphale as glanced behind them and saw a familiar figure enter the shop. He hadn't expected to hear from Crowley again for a few days at least. Wasn't three days the standard waiting period so one didn't seem over-eager? No matter. Aziraphale was thrilled that Crowley had ignored society's conventions. He'd been thinking about Crowley all day. A smile came to Aziraphale's lips that had nothing to do with customer service. It was genuine and warm. 

The woman in front of him was still talking, but her friend gently put a hand on her arm and murmured, “Why don't we just browse for a little bit? I think the dear has someone else he needs to talk to.” And she cast a significant look in Crowley's direction.

Oh dear, Aziraphale blushed, was he that obvious? Still he was grateful when the ladies moved aside and let him approach Crowley directly. 

“It's good to see you,” Aziraphale said, still smiling. “Did you need something new to read already?” He meant it as a joke but Crowley looked at him seriously. 

“I need your help.”

Aziraphale's smile faded. “Sorry?”

Crowley took a step closer and leaned over him intently. “I need a book that may not even exist. I have a kid and he likes to wear...er, that is, he likes to dress up and he thinks he's a freak for it. I...I need _something_ to show him he's okay.”

It was a lot to take in very quickly. Crowley looked both vulnerable and defensive, ready to fight tooth and nail for this child of his.

His child. Crowley was a father? Aziraphale took a deep breath and tried to stay calm about the revelation. Crowley glanced away and Aziraphale followed his line of sight to a young boy who was playing with the cardboard pinball machine they kept in the kids' corner of the store. His expression was dull as he focused on game. He didn't show the energy that kids his age usually displayed here.

“He...thinks he's a freak?” Aziraphale asked quietly. 

Crowley nodded. “He was sobbing about it less than an hour ago. I'm sorry to bring this on you so suddenly; I just thought maybe a book or something might help and when you gave me that book last week...Well, you just seemed to know your stuff.” He looked away. Aziraphale noticed that he was blushing. This must be a sensitive topic for him. 

And the boy, the child. He was in need right now. Aziraphale was of the opinion that many, if not most, problems could be solved if one only had the right book. He could also tell that this child was particularly in need of the right book at this moment.

Without a further word Aziraphale walked to the picture book section and pulled down a title that he had recommended to many parents before. It was the sort of book everyone should have in their life, but children like Crowley's in particular. He walked back to Crowley and handed it over.

“_Julián Is a Mermaid_?” Crowley murmured, taking in the cover. On it there was a young boy wearing flowers and leaves in his hair and a sheet around his waist, tied to look like both a skirt and a mermaid's tail. He looked beautiful, and proud. Crowley quickly flipped through the book, carefully gauging how well it might suit Warlock.  
The book was by Jessica Love. It told the story of a boy named Julián who loved mermaids and wanted to be one himself. He saw women dressed as mermaids and went home to dress like one himself. His abuela even helped him and he got to go outside in his beautiful outfit. It was a simple story, but it was also obviously so much more. 

Crowley stared at the book, then at Aziraphale. “I didn't know books like this existed,” he said, clearly stunned. “I doubt they did when I was a kid.”

“Most LGBT literature is fairly new,” Aziraphale agreed, “especially for children. I've made a point of making sure our shop is well-stocked with whatever I can get my hands on.”

“That's...That's good. I'm glad this shop has people like you working in it.” Crowley looked away as he spoke, as though he couldn't stand to make eye contact and be sincere at the same time. It didn't matter. The compliment warmed Aziraphale all the same, enough to make him push his luck.

"And perhaps this as well?" Aziraphale suggested holding out another book. This one was thicker, with far more words than pictures. It was a bit advanced for Crowley's child at the moment, but Aziraphale had a feeling he would grow into it. It was _A Little Princess_ by Frances Hodgson Burnett. “It's not a queer novel, but I do always have a weakness for the classics. This one has lots of pictures, so that's likely to engage him.”

Crowley's expression faded into a frown and Aziraphale knew he'd gone too far. Crowley didn't even reach out a hand to touch the book. Was it too much? Did Crowley's acceptance of his child only go so far and comparing him to a princess was a step over the line? Or perhaps Aziraphale had simply misjudged the child and he wasn't that interested in feminine things. Aziraphale bit his lip and moved to put _A Little Princess_ back on the shelf.

“I'm sorry,” Crowley hastily spoke up. “I'm sure it's an excellent book. It's just, I'm already taking a big risk bringing this into the house.” He gestured to _Julián Is a Mermaid_. 

“Oh!” Aziraphale said with understanding. “Is his mother not very supportive?” Wait, did that mean Crowley was still living with his ex-wife?

“You have no idea,” Crowley said, rolling his eyes. “Her husband's no better. Even worse, I'd say. Very macho when he's even around.”

“My, that sounds complicated.” Was he living with an ex _and_ her husband then? There was something Aziraphale was missing. Then he got an idea. He went to a different part of the children's section and pulled out a book on cryptozoological creatures. He presented it to Crowley with a conspiratorial smile.

“What's this for?” Crowley asked.

“It's a disguise!” Aziraphale said proudly. “Well, in a way, that is. If you need to be sneaky about the mermaid book I thought it might be helpful to have an explanation handy in case your child starts talking about mermaids. You can just say he liked the entry on mermaids in this very boy-acceptable book!” 

Crowley simply stared at him, mouth opening and closing wordlessly for a few seconds before his brain evidently caught up with him. “Can I see you again? Tonight?”

Aziraphale was taken aback. They had just had their first date last night! Yes, they had agreed they wanted to see each other again, but this seemed so soon, so sudden. On the one hand Aziraphale was giddy at the idea of seeing Crowley again, maybe even taking a chance and kissing him, but the pace made Aziraphale nervous. How could Crowley possibly like him that much? Was he just angling for sex again...or could there be something more sinister afoot? It wouldn't be the first time someone in his life was too good to be true. 

He looked away from Crowley and took an unconscious step backwards. It only put a few extra inches between them, but it felt like a gulf. Where a second ago there was warmth, there was now a chill. 

“That's very sweet of you, Crowley,” Aziraphale said politely. “But I'm afraid I already have plans for tonight. Perhaps some other time...if you're willing to wait?” And he glanced at Crowley cautiously, with his heart pounding far more than the situation warranted. How did this man react when he didn't get what he wanted?

“Oh, right. It is a bit last minute, isn't it?” Crowley shrugged. “Well, ah, whenever you're ready, just send me a text, alright?” He looked away, then down, then back at Aziraphale again. “And thank you, so much, for the books. I really think they're going to help.”

Aziraphale smiled and looked back at the child Crowley had come in with. “What's his name? Oh, I mean, should I say he? Do they prefer other pronouns?”

“He's still using he/him for now,” Crowley explained. “No one's told him about trans people yet. I doubt _I'm_ allowed to. But he hasn't said he isn't a boy yet, so I'm just taking things one step at a time and trying to show him the support he needs as he needs it, you know?” He blinked as he seemed to remember the original question. “His name's Warlock. It's an old English name, but it suits him. He's a wee little hellion half the time.”

Aziraphale chuckled. He didn't believe Crowley's chastisement of the boy for a moment. “How appropriate then. Did you name him?”

Crowley stared at Aziraphale in confusion. “What? No. I didn't meet him until he was three.”

“...Oh. I see.” Aziraphale had a sudden vision of Crowley, a wild, rich playboy, having a one night stand with a woman that resulted in young Warlock. Did the mother keep the boy a secret for three years? Did she not know how to contact Crowley? And then, after further years of hedonism, Crowley discovered he had a son with a woman who was controlling and conservative. Perhaps she would barely let him see the child at first, considering Crowley's wild ways. Only gradually was Crowley able to win her over, by pretending to support her prejudiced mindset. 

Aziraphale felt an ache in his heart as he imagined the possibilities. But he also felt a growing concern. Was this really a situation he wanted to get involved in? It sounded complicated and painful for everyone in it. Was this mysterious, charming, handsome man worth all that trouble?

Meanwhile Crowley's gaze had wandered to something behind Aziraphale. He reached over Aziraphale's shoulder and picked up a book from the staff recommendation shelf. Specifically one of Aziraphale's recommendations. 

“_Jane Eyre_, huh?” Crowley asked, curiously. “I guess that make sense. You did say you liked the classics.”

Aziraphale blushed. “Yes it's, well, it's a personal favorite of mine.” Elsewhere he might have said more. He might have explained that _Jane Eyre_ had given him hope at the darkest points of his life, that it had changed his whole world philosophy, that he was a more complete person for having read it. But he was at work and Crowley was still someone he barely knew. Instead he held back and simply said, “I don't think you'd like it very much I'm afraid. It's a bit of a slog if you don't like reading much.”

“Maybe,” Crowley said thoughtfully, flipping through it. “I think I was supposed to read this in school at some point. Probably just another assignment I ignored.” Then he glanced at Aziraphale and his cheeks went slightly pink. “Alright, I'll take it I suppose.” And he added _Jane Eyre_ to the two books already in his arms. “If you're recommending it, it can't be that bad.”

Aziraphale blinked. He was going to read it just because Aziraphale recommended it? Just because he liked it? There was a fluttering suddenly throughout Aziraphale. This was more than a bit of hand-holding or a warm smile. This was someone trying to understand him. It someone who cared about him as a person. 

It was the most intimate, caring thing anyone had ever done for him.

At that moment Aziraphale knew he was lost. He was going to see through these happy, bubbling feelings with Crowley no matter how complicated his home life was. 

“Next weekend!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “Are you free at all next weekend? I have it off, you see, and I was hoping to do something a bit special...Maybe we could see a film? Go out to dinner someplace?” He had a bit saved up to do something nice and it would be so much better to do it with someone who meant something to him. He only hoped he didn't seem too eager.

Crowley grinned. It seemed as though, behind his sunglasses, his eyes would be sparkling. Maybe with mischief, maybe with delight. “I'll make time. Just tell me when and where. Sound good?” And he held out his hand to Aziraphale.

It seemed oddly formal for them to be shaking hands, but there were few other options for making contact in the middle of the bookstore and Aziraphale was just happy to touch him. He took Crowley's hand. It was warm and smooth to the touch. Lovely. He noted that both of them kept their hands clasped longer than necessary and the thought made Aziraphale blush. Finally, regretfully, they both let go. 

“Are you busy, Aziraphale?” called a voice. “A customer needs help finding a blue biography they saw last month.”

It was Aziraphale's manager, Chalky. They were generally a relaxed manager (if terrible about taking out the recycling) but they had limits to how much they would allow Aziraphale to socialize on the clock. Aziraphale knew they were sending a not-so-subtle hint that he needed to get back to work. 

“Ah, yes, of course,” Aziraphale said hurriedly. He looked apologetically at Crowley. “I'm afraid duty calls. I'll be in touch with the movie details.” Then he glanced in Warlock's direction. The child was now in the toy section, playing with a bouncy ball. “Good luck to you and Warlock, Crowley. I sincerely hope that the books help.”

“Right.” Crowley followed his gaze and watched Warlock too, concern visible in his posture if not in his eyes. “I do too.”

Then Aziraphale had to hurry off to help other customers. The store was reasonably crowded that day and he didn't have a chance to think for himself for a good fifteen minutes or so. When he had a chance to breathe and look around, Crowley was gone. Still, the warmth of having seen him again, of having helped him with a serious problem, lingered with Aziraphale for the rest of the day. He felt like he was walking on clouds.

Until he came home, that is. 

His flatmate had clearly retrieved the mail. She always left it in a neat pile on the kitchen counter for him. On top there was an envelope that made Aziraphale's blood run cold. 

It had a familiar insignia on it: a pair wings with a halo above them. Underneath it said in swirling cursive, “God Loves You”. It looked like standard religious junk mail. Aziraphale knew better. He picked up the envelope and opened it with trembling fingers.

It was just a form letter, asking for donations. Of course it was. Gabriel wouldn't waste time writing him an actual letter. Not when the real message was already clear. _We know where you are,_ the letter said. _You never really escaped us._

A splash of water appeared on the page and Aziraphale realized he was crying. He'd suspected something like this would happen down the line. He hadn't had the resources to truly cover his tracks, after all. He'd simply never told anyone where he was going. Now it seemed his freedom was both brief and imaginary.

What would they do, now that they had found him? Aziraphale wished he knew. 

He wished he knew a lot of things. Or anything really. Anything more than how to sell da-darn books.

Aziraphale wandered to his room and curled up on his bed. He spent the rest of the evening trying to remember what hope felt like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the books I mention in this story are real if you'd like to check them out! Do any of you have further suggestions for books that Warlock might enjoy? 
> 
> As always, comments, questions, and general thoughts are greatly appreciated! Feel free to look me up on tumblr too, under comicgeekery.


	7. A Night of Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An entertaining second date with nothing distressing or unusual.

**Chapter Seven**

It was several days before Crowley had the chance to read the new books to Warlock. He was a bit nervous about it, honestly. He didn't know how Warlock would take reading about a boy like himself. Would he be happy? Frustrated? Would it make him have more tantrums because he knew what he was missing? Crowley knew Warlock better than anyone in the world, but the child had been unpredictable ever since the Incident. It made Crowley hesitate. Besides, Warlock's mum was usually the one to put him to bed. By the end of the day she often actually felt like parenting, which was more than could be said of Mr. Dowling. 

So, for those few days Crowley focused on reading _Jane Eyre_. Aziraphale hadn't been kidding. It was a difficult book to read for someone who was used to modern thrillers and the like. But Crowley tried not to be discouraged. He'd seen the way Aziraphale had lit up when Crowley said he was going to read it, and there was no way he was going to disappoint him.

The book was...slow. Though not really in a boring sense. Rather, it took its time to introduce Jane and her situation in life. Crowley had thought he'd loosely known the story of _Jane Eyre_. It was a romance where a governess fell in love with a broody man who turned out to have a mad wife hidden in the attic. Crowley was surprised at how much build-up there was before Jane even met Mr. Rochester. First she was a child living with her abusive aunt and cousins. Then she went to a horrible school where she found friendship and religion with a girl named Helen. 

The religious bits made Crowley a little uncomfortable. Religion always did. It was just always awkward to see people so passionate about something they were wrong about. But then, Aziraphale had said that religion was a touchy subject for him too. Maybe it was something they could talk about someday. For the moment Crowley tried to understand what the book as a whole might mean to Aziraphale. He looked forward to talking with him about it. It would get them away from shallow surface conversation and into...

Oh, dear. They'd be Getting to Know Each Other. 

Mary had written back about a day after Crowley had sent his message to her. He kept rereading it because it made him nervous. 

_Crowley,_

_It's good to hear that things are progressing well with “the bookstore bloke”. It seems that his desire to take things slowly is causing you anxiety though. Have you thought about why this might be the case? It does seem different from what you've experienced with many of your past relationships. Is it possible that you're concerned about experiencing a new level of non-physical intimacy? _

_You seem concerned that he won't find you to be interesting outside of your physical characteristics. Consider the things you find appealing about him. Are you only interested in his looks or are there other qualities that you find attractive? Likely he's thinking similar things about you._

_As for what you should talk about, this is an excellent opportunity for you to practice something you've had concerns about in the past: opening up. Remember, this man isn't a part of your family and he is unlikely to have an agenda. You can tell him about your interests, your hobbies, and your work if you feel comfortable and he will likely respond in kind._

_I hope I've been able to help you. I look forward to our next session._

_Sincerely,  
Mary Hodges_

Crowley groaned to himself as he finished the message yet again. Mary was too professional to say it outright, but he could read between the lines. “Open up, you nitwit!” she was saying. “He's not going to use your bloody love of plants against you like your family would! Let him in and maybe something good can happen!”

On the other hand, maybe he was getting ahead of himself. They had only been on the one date after all. It wasn't like they were talking about getting married or something like that. It was only...Well, Crowley couldn't stop thinking about him. Days went by and he still longed to feel Aziraphale's hand on his own again. He wanted to know what Aziraphale was up to. He wanted to see him smile.

This wasn't at all how Crowley usually felt about his crushes. Normally there was an infatuation, but it would fade as soon as they were apart for any length of time. There was just something about Aziraphale; something special, genuine, and charming. Crowley didn't know much about love. He didn't know if he had ever actually _been_ in love. He wanted to be though. He'd always wanted it, late at night back when he felt like nothing would ever be truly his. He wondered if this feeling was what the beginnings of love felt like. He wondered if Aziraphale felt it too.

After it had been nearly a week with no word from him, Crowley began to worry. Why hadn't Aziraphale contacted him about their date yet? This was the exact opposite of desperately needing to see a person again! Crowley didn't like the idea of being the vulnerable one in their budding relationship one bit. Still, he was hardly a creature of self-restraint. He finally sent a text message.

C: Are we still doing something this week? Or did something come up for you?

There. Hopefully that didn't sound too desperate or mopey. Just a man with plenty of other things to do checking up on some inconsequential plans. 

Crowley was painfully aware that it took nearly an hour for Aziraphale to respond. 

A: Ah! Terribly sorry. A family incident came up and I've been a bit distracted because of it. 

A family incident? Did that mean there was an emergency? Was someone hurt or ill? Or was it something more mundane than that? Crowley didn't ask. He was a cool person who was only casually invested in Aziraphale. Cool people didn't need to know all the details.

C: It's fine. You still interested in meeting?

There was another long break before Aziraphale replied.

A: Yes. Would you like to see a show with me? And perhaps have some dinner afterward?

Crowley pumped his fist in the air before replying. 

C: Sounds good. When and where?

Things went smoothly from there as they ironed out the details. Aziraphale wanted to go out on a Tuesday, which was odd but workable. If it had been on the weekend Crowley might have had to beg out of one of the cabaret's rehearsals. He already had to do that too often when a bit of extra nannying work came his way. 

Speaking of which, it was time for Crowley to put Warlock to bed. The Dowlings had each gone out for the night, so he had what he liked to think of as a closing shift. It had also been an opening shift. A clopening shift. Whatever. It was a long day, was the point. He was glad he was ending it on a high note where Aziraphale was concerned. 

C: I have to go. It's Warlock's bedtime.

He paused and then added more.

C: I think I'm going to read him that book you recommended now. 

This time Aziraphale responded right away. 

A: Really? That's good to hear. Good luck with it!

A moment, and then...

A: I'm rooting for you!

And Crowley could just picture him saying it. He would have a soft, nervous smile as he pumped his fist in the air, hesitant but genuine. Aziraphale had something about him that always seemed a bit distracted, on guard, but beneath that Crowley was coming to appreciate the very real kindness that radiated from everything he did. Aziraphale _was_ rooting for him, and for Warlock too. Crowley was surprised at how much that meant to him.

When was the last time he felt like he really had someone's support? _That_ was something to talk about in therapy, he supposed. 

C: Thanks. I'll talk to you soon.

Then he put away his phone and went to Warlock's room. The kid had already brushed his teeth and put on his pajamas after only being nagged a few times. Now he was sitting on the floor playing with a few dinosaur toys.

“Rawr! Your time is up! Now I'm going to eat you!

“You can't eat me! I have a force field! And spikes on my tail! Hi-yah!

“Ow! How can you do that? I'm a T-Rex! I'm _supposed_ to eat everything!

“It's natural election, bitch!”

Crowley, who had been watching fondly from the door, decided that this was a good time to intervene. (Even if he was having a hard time controlling his laughter.)

“Alright Warlock, what have I told you about repeating nasty words? You know that's one of the bad ones.”

Warlock looked up at him innocently. “_I_ know that, but Leslie wasn't listening.” He held up his stegosaurus as proof. 

Crowley smirked. “Well I suppose I'll have to give Leslie a talking to. Anyway, it's time for bed. Come along now.”

Once Warlock was settled Crowley finally took out the book. It hadn't left the Labyrinth Books bag since he'd purchased it. He felt like he was smuggling in contraband. It made his voice a little more high-pitched than usual as he tried to appear casual.

“So, we're going to read something new tonight. Nothing special, just another story. Sit tight and enjoy it. No commentary.”

“Is this the special secret book you got at the bookstore the other day?” Warlock asked with a grin.

“Definitely not,” Crowley said firmly. Then he began to read _Julián Is a Mermaid_. 

Later, Crowley wasn't quite certain what to make of the experience. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. Some sort of positive reaction. Maybe some questions, maybe some tears. Instead he'd gotten...basically nothing. 

Warlock had listened to the story, mostly, and looked at the pictures when he wasn't still fiddling with Leslie. But there hadn't been any profound revelations, no crying with relief. After the story was done he simply asked for one of his favorite books to be read next and that was that.

“You know that Julián is a boy, right?” Crowley couldn't resist asking.

“Yeah, I know,” Warlock said calmly. He was still playing with his dinosaur in bed.

“Well...alright then.” And what else was there to say? Crowley didn't want to make a Thing out of it. It was only, after all the care he'd taken and all his secrecy to get the book in the first place, this felt a bit anticlimactic. 

Crowley had sighed and let it go. Children were unpredictable sometimes. That was fine. Maybe Julián and his story just needed some time to plant themselves in Warlock's mind. There Crowley hoped they would grow into something special, something important. 

He felt that hope growing the next day, when Warlock asked to hear the story again.

A few days later it was time for Crowley's date with Aziraphale. They were going to a show at the theater so Crowley made sure to dress up extra well for the occasion. He felt a little embarrassed that Aziraphale a venue that was, while not exactly the fanciest, certainly a league or two above the greasy pizza joint they had visited last time. 

They met outside the theater and Crowley tried to hide excited he was when he saw Aziraphale. It seemed Aziraphale had decided to dress up too. Normally Crowley only saw him in nondescript business casual types of clothes. (And, of course, the notable time he'd been wearing a magician's suit.) Tonight he wore a tweed sweater, brown slacks, and (of all things) a plaid bow tie. The outfit should have been homey and antiquated. He certainly looked odd next to Crowley's sharp black suit jacket. But Crowley didn't care. All he could think was that Aziraphale looked adorable. 

One thing did make Crowley pause however. He saw Aziraphale before Aziraphale saw him out in front of the theater. He looked...anxious, even tense, like he was scanning the crowd for someone he didn't want to see. It made Crowley nervous in turn. Was Aziraphale not looking forward to this date as much as he was? Had he only made plans with Crowley out of a sense of politeness? The thought made Crowley's heart droop, but it didn't stop him from approaching.

“Hey,” Crowley said with a confident smirk he didn't really feel. “Looking for someone?”

Aziraphale actually jumped when Crowley spoke, then did a double-take when he saw who it was. Finally, he smiled. “Oh, hello! Terribly sorry. I was just...distracted. It's lovely to see you.”

That helped Crowley's mood considerably. He wasn't used to anyone besides Warlock being happy to see him. Once again, there was just something genuine about Aziraphale that left him feeling warm.

Still. Second date. Crowley swallowed and told his feelings to behave themselves. 

“So what sort of show are we seeing? A play? Some music? Stand-up comedy?” he asked. Aziraphale had quite evasive on the subject when they'd been texting and had insisted on providing the tickets for the evening himself. (Crowley in turn insisted that he was going to cover dinner in that case, though secretly he was relieved that he had an excuse not to cover the whole evening. His finances weren't as tight as in his barista days, but he still had to get most of his clothes in thrift shops.)

“None of those, actually,” Aziraphale said, seeming a bit calmer already. He smiled impishly and handed Crowley one of their tickets. “I thought we could do something that hearkened back to how we met. Or, well, I suppose that's more of a coincidence. I do have a genuine interest in the field you see. I just...”

The ticket read Sabrina the Great. Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Are you taking us to a burlesque show?”

Aziraphale's cheeks immediately reddened. “No! I mean, not that that would be a problem, but perhaps not as a date activity. That is...unless _you_ wanted to sometime. I wouldn't...there wouldn't...Oh, bother.”

He looked helplessly at Crowley, who was deeply amused. Aziraphale sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What I mean to say is, Ms. Sabrina is not a burlesque performer. She's a magician. I thought we might take in a magic show.”

Ah, that made more sense based on what Crowley knew about him. “Hmm. Interesting. I've never been to a magic show before. Sounds like it could be entertaining.”

“Oh, absolutely!” Aziraphale gushed, suddenly a thousand times brighter. “I haven't been to many of these shows myself either, but I love watching magicians perform on the internet! It's not the same, of course. Anything can be manipulated with a bit of digital know-how. But I've seen Penn and Teller trying to debunk tricks and they're absolutely smashing at it! I've been longing to see a live performance for some time now and Ms. Sabrina is supposed to be quite good.”

Crowley nodded along, more interested in Aziraphale's enthusiasm than in what he was saying exactly. “Good for us then, that we'll be able to see her in person. Were you able to get good seats?”

And Aziraphale looked proud. “Yes, actually! I splurged a bit and got us floor seats. With some luck, we may even be chosen as volunteers in her act!”

“Perfect,” said Crowley, who hated people gawking at him. “Let's see what we can do to get her attention, shall we?”

They walked into the theater together and went to find their seats. Once Aziraphale was comfortable Crowley said he was going to find a restroom and slipped off.

It wasn't hard for him to get backstage. Everyone there was busy and he walked like he was supposed to be there. At his heart Crowley was an optimist and that tended to lend him a lot of confidence to draw on from time to time. This plan of his would work because he wanted it to work. 

He'd been looking for someone in a top hat or something, but when he found Sabrina she was in a sleek, white tuxedo. She looked at him questioningly as he approached.

“Can I help you with something?”

Crowley nodded. “You're going to ask for volunteers in your show, right? I need you to pick a certain bloke on the left side of row H. He's wearing tweed and a bow tie and he'll be right next to me. Think you can manage that?”

Sabrina looked uncomfortable as she quickly realized Crowley was part of the audience and wasn't supposed to be backstage. “I don't really think that would be fair to the rest of the audience. Why don't you go and take your seat? The show will be starting soon.”

“I can make it worth your while,” he said, then quickly considered the contents of his wallet. “Twenty pounds?”

She wasn't amused. “I think you should go. Before I call security.”

Alright, so the basic approach wasn't going to work. Crowley frowned and looked around. There were other people about but everyone was busy and distracted with their own work, getting ready for the show to start. No one was paying attention to them. Not yet anyway. Crowley knew he didn't have much time before that would change. He sighed and considered his options. Just how much did he like Aziraphale? How much did he want to see him happy?

The man was adorable, kind, intelligent, interesting, and amazingly compassionate, but was that enough to...

Alright, fine. It was just a little risk anyway. Crowley glanced around one last time before he took off his sunglasses.

Sabrina had only a moment to look surprised before she was listening to every word he said.

Crowley made it back to his seat just as the lights began to dim. Yet again Aziraphale smiled and seemed to relax as soon as he saw Crowley, which went a long way towards easing the pain of Crowley's sudden headache.

“Oh good,” Aziraphale said. “You're just in time. It would be a shame if you missed any of the performance.”

“Of course,” Crowley agreed with a knowing smile. “I have a feeling this show is going to be spectacular.”

Overall, Crowley had never been a real fan of stage magicians. They were alright, but they rarely felt as impressive as they could be. Then again, he had really only seen a handful of performances at birthday parties when he was a child. Sabrina, with her touring stage show, was in a different league. 

She started off simply with some card tricks and some suddenly appearing scarves and flowers. Then she was floating and dancing in the air, conjuring fire, and catching daggers in her teeth. Finally she moved on to escape artist tricks. That was when she asked for a volunteer from the audience. Aziraphale barely had time to put his hand up before she called on him.

“Yes, you in the adorable tartan bow tie!” Sabrina waved him onto the stage.

Aziraphale looked shocked, but soon was grinning from ear to ear as he worked his way out of the audience. She had him examine a tall, narrow box that she would climb into. He assured the crowd that there were no hidden compartments or doors. Then he had to apply some force to a series of swords she brought out, checking each of them to ensure they were genuine.

From his seat Crowley could see that Aziraphale was taking his work very seriously. He eyed the blades carefully and clanged them against each other with enough force that one could _hear_ they were real. With each sword that passed the test, Aziraphale grew visibly more excited. He couldn't wait to see this trick up close. Finally he returned the swords to Sabrina and she in turn handed him a large key. Her assistant helped her into a straitjacket that Aziraphale secured with a large padlock.

“Alright,” said Sabrina gleefully, “now the fun begins! I'm going to step into that box and be impaled a few times. Hopefully there won't be a bloody mess when I get out again! Aziraphale, I need you to hold onto that key carefully. Don't let it go!”

Aziraphale nodded and carefully held the key clasped in both hands.

From there things went quite smoothly. Sabrina stepped into the box, wriggling a bit at how tight it was. Her assistant stabbed the swords through and everyone watched with baited breath to see what would happen next.

Well, almost everyone. Crowley was much more interested in watching Aziraphale than the show. Aziraphale was standing to one side, carefully clutching the key, and looking absolutely giddy. He was watching Sabrina with rapt attention, but then once she was in her box he glanced quickly at the audience. He caught Crowley's gaze. For a moment it felt like they were the only two in the room. Aziraphale smiled and Crowley knew it was a smile just for him. It made him feel lighter than air. He couldn't help grinning back, just a little.

A minute later Sabrina's assistant pulled the swords out of the box and opened the door. The box was empty. And then, in puff of smoke, Sabrina appeared in the center of the stage, looking proud and triumphant with her straitjacket dangling from one hand.

“I guess we won't need that key anymore, Aziraphale,” she said with a broad wink. “Why don't you let it go?”

No one looked more surprised than Aziraphale when he opened his hands and a bright white dove flew out.

Naturally, Aziraphale couldn't stop talking about the show all through dinner. It made Crowley sit up straighter and fight to keep his proud smirks to himself.

“And I have no idea how she slipped me that dove! I could have sworn all I had was a large key in my hands! Really it was such a privilege to see her work up close. I wish I could have taken notes while it was happening. This really is the luckiest thing that has ever happened to me!”

Crowley couldn't hold back anymore. He relaxed in his chair and took a long sip of wine before he said, “Well, I wouldn't exactly call it luck...”

Aziraphale went still, his smile replaced with a look of confusion. “Why, whatever do you mean? She chose me at random, didn't she?”

“I may have persuaded her to pick you, just before the show started.” Crowley tried to sound nonchalant but inside he was giddy. “It seemed like something that would make you happy, that's all.”

Surprisingly Aziraphale didn't look thrilled at the revelation. Instead he looked concerned. “So you...what, bribed her?”

“Sure.” That was close enough to the truth anyway.

“Oh. I see.” Aziraphale was quiet for a few minutes as he worked on his meal. Crowley watched him eat with increasing frustration. He'd done something Aziraphale had been delighted about just moments ago! Surely he couldn't have ruined everything by involving a bit of bribery!

“Out with it, Aziraphale,” he finally said. “Are you that upset that you got to live out your dream while someone else had to stay sitting down?”

Aziraphale sighed and put down his fork resolutely. “I suppose that's part of it. I don't like you 'gaming the system' as it were. But it's more than that. It's, well, I know that you're a lot better off than I am. I...I don't like the idea of benefiting off your wealth. If we're going to continue seeing each other I want us to act as equals, not have you be my, er, I believe the phrase is 'Sugar Daddy'.”

Crowley tried to contain himself but hearing someone as proper as Aziraphale say 'sugar daddy' was too much for him. He spluttered and chuckled and finally laughed outright. He stopped when he got a glimpse of Aziraphale's face. He was clearly not amused.

“Sorry,” Crowley said hastily. “I just...Where did you get the idea that I'm some sort of rich, er, individual bent on raining money on you?”

“Well, you did insist on paying for dinner.”

“You bought the theater tickets!”

“And you bought us dinner the other night.”

“That pizza does _not_ count.”

“You hardly work at the cabaret.”

“I have a day job!”

“And you drive a _very_ nice car.” 

Oh right, the Bentley. That _would_ mislead people, wouldn't it? Crowley waved his hand dismissively. “That was, er, a gift. From someone who owed me.”

Aziraphale quirked an eyebrow at that but didn't ask any questions when Crowley didn't elaborate. “So, if you aren't some wildly wealthy tycoon, what is it that you do at this day job of yours?”

That made Crowley's brow furrow. “I thought you already knew. I mean, you met Warlock just last week.”

“What does your son have to do with this?” 

“My...son?” Crowley stared and Aziraphale stared back, looking less certain by the moment.

“So...” Aziraphale began, looking suddenly embarrassed. “Are you saying Warlock _isn't_ the result of a wild affair you had years ago with a woman who turned out to be deeply conservative that you're now living with?”

Crowley opened his mouth and then closed it again. Oh, dear. There had clearly been a series of serious misunderstandings between them. “You...You thought I was some kind of millionaire playboy type?” A horrible thought occurred to him. “Is that why you wanted to date me? Because you thought I was some sort of glamorous fantasy?” It was awful. Crowley felt like he had been sucker-punched. Was this how Aziraphale had felt when Crowley propositioned him?

For his part, Aziraphale looked equally horrified. “Oh, no! No, no my dear. I'm so sorry that I jumped to conclusions about you. I thought Warlock was your son and you had that car and...It all simply seemed to fit at the time. But I was never pursuing you _because_ of those things. As a matter of fact, I was worried your past and status might come between us. I thought they might make things...complicated. At the same time I couldn't stop admiring you. That's why I decided to keep seeing you.”

Aziraphale paused and blushed. “Especially after you decided to read _Jane Eyre_ for my sake. That...That meant a lot to me.”

It was all a bit overwhelming. Crowley felt a profound sense of relief, a small thrill from being called 'my dear', and a great deal of tangled emotions at the adorable face Aziraphale was now making. It was too much to feel at once and left Crowley feeling vulnerable. He turned his face away and mumbled. “It's no big deal. I've got through most of it. 's a good story.”

And Aziraphale beamed so brightly he might as well have been the sun. “Would you like to talk about it?”

From there the night felt charmed. Conversation (and some drinks) flowed freely between them. They spoke about _Jane Eyre_, their favorite Shakespeare plays, and some of Crowley's adventures in nannying. They stayed until their server made some polite noises about the restaurant closing soon and then they steadied each other as they left. Crowley was delighted to have Aziraphale's sturdy form leaning up against him. 

“Oh, this has been a wonderful evening!” laughed Aziraphale, echoing Crowley's thoughts. “I couldn't have asked for a better present!”

“You want a present, do you?” Crowley laughed drunkenly back. “How about I buy you some diamond cuff links with my millions of pounds?”

“Hush, you. It's not sporting to make fun of a man on his birthday.”

Crowley blinked. “It's your birthday? Why didn't you say so? We could have gotten a free dessert at the restaurant!” Inside his heart was fluttering. _He chose to spend his birthday with me!_

Aziraphale looked away, bashful. “I—I didn't want to make a fuss, that's all.” He paused. “I've _never_ celebrated my birthday before, actually.”

Now that was odd. Had he been sober, Crowley might have sensed that there was something amiss. He might have noticed the way Aziraphale wrung his hands and started breathing more heavily. Instead Crowley was just surprised. “Really? Not even as a kid? What kind of shi—I mean, did your parents not believe in birthday parties or something?”

Aziraphale responded, but it was just a mumble. Crowley leaned his head in closer, which practically made them ear-to-ear. “Sorry, what was that?”

“I never knew who my parents were,” Aziraphale repeated, his face now a bright red. “I...You see...It's complicated.”

Aw, hell. Had some desperate idiots abandoned Aziraphale as a baby? The thought was a sudden and sobering one. It made Crowley realize for the first time just how distressed Aziraphale was becoming. He stopped walking and Aziraphale stopped too, looking at him in confusion. 

“Listen,” Crowley said, wishing he were better at this sort of thing. “It's alright. You can tell me about whatever. Or not. I'm not going to judge you for having a rough childhood. Believe me, I—”

And then Aziraphale burst out like he simply couldn't contain himself anymore. “I was raised in a cult!”

_Oh,_ thought Crowley. _Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale has had a rough life. Neither he nor Crowley know what they're getting into. Now we're getting into the meat of the story!
> 
> Are you enjoying Millennial Blues? Let me know! Seriously, comments mean the absolute world to me.


	8. Talking it Out...Elsewhere

**Chapter Eight**

Aziraphale immediately slapped his hands to his mouth as though that could force the words he'd just said back in. What was he doing? You didn't just confess to growing up in a cult to someone! He knew all too well how it drove people away in an instant. Oh dear, had he just ruined everything?

It didn't look good. Crowley was staring at him like he was a computer that had just exploded into sparks, like Aziraphale was suddenly dangerous and unpredictable. It was an expression that was sadly familiar. 

“Huh,” said Crowley. “That's funny. I was raised by Satanists.” 

“I...What?” Aziraphale had no idea what to say to that. It certainly wasn't the horror or pity he had been expecting, but he wasn't entirely sure if he was being made fun of or not. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, sure,” Crowley said dismissively and entirely unhelpfully. “Listen, it's getting late. What do you say we call it a night?”

_Oh._ Aziraphale wasn't always the best at picking up social cues, but he had a lot of experience knowing when he wasn't wanted anymore. All at once he remembered why he didn't get his hopes up. It hurt so much when they were dashed.

“I see,” Aziraphale said reluctantly. “I...I won't bother you any further.”

“Ngrk,” Crowley choked out.

Aziraphale wasn't sure how to interpret that. He looked at Crowley with a mixture of hope and pain, wishing yet again that he could see the man's eyes. “I'm sorry, what was that?”

“Nothing! It was nothing!” Crowley tore his gaze away from him and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Listen, I...I have to go. I'll, ARGH,” he twisted his neck like he was fighting with himself. “I'll text you or something, alright? Just stop looking so damn _sad_!”

“Well, I'm sorry if being promised a 'text or something' doesn't leave me filled with hope that I'll ever see you again!” Aziraphale said, a dam inside of him bursting. He hadn't been planning to tell Crowley about the whole cult thing, not for several months at least if things even got that far, but it still hurt terribly to have the man he admired reject him so suddenly after learning Aziraphale's secret. 

But Crowley didn't seem in a mood to be apologetic. “Well how am I supposed to feel? You just dropped a bomb on me out of nowhere!”

“I didn't mean to! It just came out! I...didn't want to lie to you.” Aziraphale looked downward, somehow managing to feel even more miserable now.

They were both silent for a moment, then Crowley let out a deep sigh. It was hard to tell if it was a sigh of frustration or sympathy. Maybe it was a bit of both.

“Listen,” Crowley said, “it's been a while since I've actually really dated anyone. Y'know, with feelings and backstories and such involved. I'm not very good at it. Can I just, I don't know, have a bit of time to adjust to this whole c-cult thing? It sounds like a lot to take in.”

Aziraphale nodded, his expression deadpan. “Believe me, it was.” He paused. “_Were_ you being serious about being raised by Satanists?”

“Nice try, but _my_ backstory doesn't unlock until I'm past first base.” Crowley gave him a smile that was at once charming and wall-like. It looked like Aziraphale was going to be the only one to divulge any personal secrets tonight.

Unless...

“In that case, may I kiss you?” Aziraphale asked gently and timidly, but with an underlying determination.

He could tell Crowley's eyes were going wide behind his sunglasses. “W-What? Sssseriously?”

Was that a lisp? Or, rather, a reverse lisp? Aziraphale bit his lip and didn't comment, but he found it adorable. Instead he answered Crowley. “Yes, quite. I was hoping that tonight would end with a kiss and, if it's not disagreeable to you, I'd still like to do so. The last five minutes aside, tonight has been an exceptional evening...”

He stopped. Crowley was staring at him now with an unreadable expression. Still, Aziraphale could feel an intensity coming from Crowley's gaze. As Aziraphale watched Crowley's lips lifted into the smallest of smiles. 

Crowley stepped forward, leaned closer, and then...

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

“And then he kissed me!” Aziraphale exclaimed later that night. “It was quick and chaste, but it was still a kiss! I...I hadn't realized how starved for affection I've been until I felt that tiny peck.” He looked up at his flatmate, feeling a bit foolish. “I'm completely smitten, aren't I?”

Anathema nodded, gently stirring her tea while she stood in the kitchenette and listened to his story. “I could have told you that a while ago. In fact, I could tell you a lot more besides if you'd just let me read your tea leaves.”

Aziraphale held his own cup protectively against his chest. “You know perfectly well why I don't engage in 'supernatural' hooey.”

“Says the man with a magic act,” Anathema pointed out teasingly. 

“Hmph. That is completely different. No one pretends it's real when I do those tricks.” Aziraphale huffed again, but without any real annoyance. 

He and Anathema had lived together for about six months now and they had grown to like and respect each other well. He didn't know if she would consider themselves friends, but Aziraphale knew she was the closest thing he had to one. She even knew a bit about his past, at least as much as he had been willing to tell anyone.

“So what happened after the kiss?” Anathema asked.

Aziraphale shrugged. “There isn't much to say after that. Crowley made some hasty excuses and left. I tried to get him to promise to message me again, but he was practically running toward the underground.”

“Running.”

“Yes.”

“Really.”

“I'm afraid so,” Aziraphale hung his head. “It doesn't look good does it?”

Anathema grimaced sympathetically. “My sense, my totally natural sense, is that he likes you but he's scared of what you told him. In all likelihood, he's dealing with some inner demons of his own right now.”

She was probably right. That didn't do anything to stop Aziraphale from fretting. 

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

“And then I kissed him!” Crowley exclaimed, sounding equal parts excited and supremely frustrated.

It was several days later in Crowley's bi-weekly therapy session. Mary was sitting across from him doing that thing where she managed to look both relatable and professional. “And how did that go?”

Crowley hesitated. “It was...fine. Just a kiss, you know.” 

He was lying. (That was fine. He lied a lot in therapy.) It had been the best kiss of his life. Gentle and warm and genuine. It had felt like coming home to someone who accepted him in every way. 

It had made Crowley intensely suspicious. Nothing should feel that good. Certainly not a first kiss. It shouldn't have even been that interesting! It was just a tiny peck on the lips, not hungry and full of tongues like he was used to. He'd adjusted to most blokes basically trying to eat his face off and him responding in kind (or at least with a similar, less disgusting, enthusiasm). Then there would be a few nights of passion followed by one or the other of them unceremoniously ghosting the other.

That whole situation hadn't been _ideal_ exactly, but it was pleasant enough and predictable. Now there was Aziraphale, taking things slow and being romantic. Crowley had thought he could handle it, thought it would be a nice change. But after last night...

“You're being quiet,” Mary observed with a slight smile. “Does that mean you have more complicated feelings about that kiss? Perhaps you're concerned that you gave 'bookstore bloke' some mixed messages?”

“I was so close to getting out of there!” Crowley yelled, immediately picking up on the thread Mary had dangled in front of him. “I knew the cult thing was a red flag, knew I had to get out of there for my own good, and I had one foot out the door to never seeing him again when he just turned the full power of those puppy-dog eyes on me! It wasn't fair!”

“So you kissed him even though you didn't intend to see him again?”

Crowley pouted. “I couldn't just leave him like that. You would have done it too!”

Distressingly, Mary did not seem convinced by Crowley's argument. Instead she coughed in an obvious attempt to suppress a laugh. “So, it seems fairly clear that you have some mixed feelings about how the night went, at least at the end. I think the big question is, what are you going to do now?”

He didn't answer right away. Instead Crowley let out a loud groan. The trouble with therapists, Crowley had come to learn, was that they didn't give you any easy answers. If you came to them with questions suddenly everything was about questioning you right back, poking and prodding until you came up with an answer yourself. Over the last few years he'd been seeing Mary, Crowley had come to admit that it was an effective system. That didn't mean he liked it though. 

“I don't know. It's probably for the best if I never see him again though, right?” His heart sank at the prospect.

“And why do you believe that?”

Crowley glowered at Mary. He hated when she made him explain the obvious to her. “Because he's got loads of baggage! He probably has trust issues out the arse and he'll either cling to me desperately or not believe a thing I say to him! It won't be healthy!”

Unfortunately, Mary knew him quite well at this point. She gave him a penetrating look and asked, “Is that really all you're worried about?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Crowley avoided her gaze.

“You seem very concerned about this man's past and how it might manifest in a relationship, but you also said you told him you were raised by Satanists. It took over a year for you to admit that to _me_. What made you feel so suddenly open about something you're usually so private about?” 

Abruptly, Crowley felt rather vulnerable, as he did whenever people openly talked about his past. He liked to play coy about who he was in general, stay mysterious and keep people guessing. He liked to pretend he'd never even had something as mundane as a childhood. (Though his childhood as it was was anything but normal.)

“I don't know,” he said, looking down. “I suppose I just thought...It seemed like we kind of had something in common. Messed up backgrounds and all that.”

“Hmm,” said Mary thoughtfully. “That's interesting. You know, normally when people have things in common that brings them together instead pushing them apart. Why is this man having a 'messed up background' something that drives you away? Do you think it would be too much to handle while trying to navigate your own trauma?”

Crowley squirmed in his seat. “Not exactly. I mean, I guess that could be a problem, but I feel like I've got a pretty good handle on my, y'know, past stuff.” Well enough that he could definitely say the word trauma if he wanted to. Obviously. 

Mary just nodded and waited. They both hated when she did that. Mary was the sort that loved to talk and Crowley hated expectant silences. They'd also both worked out that he needed them sometimes though. Like now, when the quiet filled the room, making way for what he really needed to say.

“If we're so similar, then why would he want to be with me? _I_ don't even want to be with me.”

“So are you saying that, in telling him a little bit about your background, you were trying to warn him away?”

He squirmed some more in response, wishing he could curl up and hide under one of the couch pillows. He couldn't believe he was paying for this torture.

“Why don't you just get to the point?” Crowley finally snapped. “Are you saying I _should_ keep seeing him?”

“That's entirely up to you,” Mary said. “I'm just trying to give you some clear perspective on the situation. Romantic relationships can be wonderful opportunities for growing as a person, but only if you're ready for it and if it's with the right person. What do you think? Are you ready to date someone seriously? Is this man someone you want to try that with?”

“...Those are two pretty big questions.”

Mary nodded. “Let's try them one at a time then. Do you think you're ready to date?”

Crowley took his time considering the question. Could he date someone? Could he have a genuine meeting-of-equals relationship with the possibility of staying with that person for the foreseeable future? The thought made him twitch. But then again, so did any real thoughts he had about the future. He tried so hard to live in the present. He had worked so hard to leave his past behind so that he could _have_ a future. What was the point of it all if he didn't take any risks?

“I don't know,” he said finally. “I think maybe I should give it a try though.”

She nodded again, not in agreement necessarily, but it acknowledgment, the solidarity she always showed him. “And this man? Is he the one you want to try it with?”

A part of Crowley immediately screamed out 'Yes!'. He did his best to ignore it. That was the voice of gut instincts and it had gotten him in trouble plenty of times before. Mary was here to make sure he thought things through, that he did things that were in his best interests. 

He kind of loved her for it, never mind that it was her job. No one had ever looked out for him the way that Mary did.

“I thought I did,” Crowley said reluctantly. “I...I really like him. A lot. Maybe too much. It's gonna hurt a bloody lot if things go wrong.”

“True, but there's also the opportunity for things to go well. What would it mean to you to have a relationship with someone who you not only liked, but who could understand and relate to your past?”

“It would be like living a dream.” He spoke without hesitation, but his voice was quiet. He looked down at his shoes, too self-conscious to face anyone, even someone who knew him as well as Mary did. “So are you saying I should give this a chance?”

But things would never be that straight-forward in a therapeutic relationship. Mary simply shrugged and gave him a quiet smile. “That's up to you, Crowley. As always, you are the only one who can decide what's healthy for you and what you're ready for. I'm just trying to help you see all sides of the situation.”

Crowley nodded to himself. “Right.” He glanced at the clock. It was about time for their session to be over. “Right, well, thanks as always for the heavy thoughts that will weigh me down for the next two weeks.” He stood up and dusted himself off, trying to look and act as casual as when he'd first sauntered into the room. 

Mary took the hint and stood as well, smiling to herself in that knowing way she always did when Crowley tried to act cool. “I look forward to seeing you again as well. Have you decided what you're going to do?”

“Yeah.” And he smiled for the first time that session. “I'm going to give Aziraphale another call and see where things go!”

Mary's smile faltered. “Aziraphale?” 

“It's the bookstore bloke's name. Bit of a mouthful, but it suits him. I think it might be biblical.” Crowley shrugged. 

“I...I suppose that would make sense. Given his background and all.”

Crowley agreed and gave her a quick wave good-bye. Despite his complaints, he left feeling more lighthearted than he'd been in weeks. Go figure, it turned out there actually was something to this whole therapy thing!

He didn't know how long Mary Hodges stood in her office after he left, her forehead creased and a frown on her lips. Finally she reached for her phone and dialed a number she had long-since memorized. 

“What is it?” asked a harsh voice on the other end.

“This is Sister Mary,” she said nervously. She took a deep breath. “We may have a problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm glad everything's going perfectly for everyone! Nothing to worry about at all!
> 
> Next chapter: What's up with this cult Aziraphale was in anyway?
> 
> Did you like this chapter? Leave a comment! I swear they make me write much faster.


	9. The Hosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale explains his background.

**Chapter Nine**

A week later Aziraphale was exhausted. It was nearly Christmas and his every shift was overwhelming. Customers came flooding in everyday. Enormous orders had to be received. Everyone seemed to want at least one book that wasn't in stock and soon Aziraphale couldn't even promise to get orders in by the holidays. 

Of course he did his best. Aziraphale used his vast knowledge to recommend replacement books for everything they didn't have in the store. But it was draining to do that again and again everyday. Soon he had a perpetual headache on top of his forever-sore feet and back. 

Then there was the music. Normally the shop just played a classical station that couldn't offend anyone. Now the manager, Chalky, was insisting on playing non-stop Christmas music. It was supposed to inspire shoppers to spend more on Christmas presents, though Aziraphale was sure those who didn't celebrate the holiday didn't appreciate being assaulted with Jingle Bells in a supposedly secular establishment. None of the staff liked the music either. There were apparently only a dozen or so acceptable Christmas songs for their station.

One day Aziraphale was sorting a new shipment of special orders with his co-worker, a nice fellow named Newt, and complaining (not whining) about the situation. 

“It's not the songs themselves I have an issue with,” Aziraphale said. “It's all the different versions of the same songs we have to listen to that aren't nearly as good as the definitive versions.”

Newt looked up from scanning a dozen copies of _The Dutch House_. “Are you saying you'd rather have even fewer songs for us to listen to? At least the other versions give us some variety.”

Aziraphale snorted with derision. “As if you can call it variety! What we need are some genuinely new songs. Maybe some that actually acknowledge holidays like Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Yule, and the like. As it is, what we have now is just, I don't know, noise pollution.”

“I don't think that's a bad thing,” said a third voice. It was Chalky, standing suddenly behind them. “What's wrong, fellows? Not enjoying the most beautiful time of the year?”

Both Newt and Aziraphale laughed awkwardly. Chalky was pretty easy-going as far as managers went, but there was also always a quiet intensity to them that others never knew quite how to respond to. That was probably why Chalky spent most of their time doing office work and left the actual book selling to the menial workers. 

They stepped closer to Aziraphale, looking at him curiously. “Your shift is almost over. Shouldn't you be getting ready to go? You're usually so quick to be out the door.”

Aziraphale blushed under the intensity of Chalky's penetrating gaze. It was perhaps a silly thing, but he felt aghast at the idea of his manager realizing he wasn't completely devoted to his job. That felt one step away from admitting that he hated working there and _that_ was just a minor leap away from unemployment. His whole world once again felt so fragile. 

Luckily Newt rescued him. “Oh, he's just helping out while he waits for his _young man_ to stop by. He got a text on his break that this fellow he's been seeing wants to meet him after work.” Newt smiled teasingly and Aziraphale hid his face behind his hand in embarrassment. It was fine though. He could handle a bit of work-place banter. It was refreshing even, considering all the stress Aziraphale had been under lately. 

“Really?” Chalky said with interest. “Is it the bloke coming in with the flowers?”

Aziraphale whirled around just as Crowley came through the door. He was indeed holding a small bouquet as well as a wrapped package under his arm. He glanced around the store looking nervous before landing his gaze on Aziraphale and giving him a small smile.

For his part, Aziraphale felt his heart start to beat faster. Crowley had said in his text that he wanted to talk, that he wanted to meet with Aziraphale for the evening. Aziraphale hadn't known what to expect from that. He'd been afraid. He still was. But now there were flowers and he couldn't help but hope.

Flowers. He hadn't gotten flowers from anyone since...Oh dear, it hadn't been since Claude, had it? Just thinking the name made Aziraphale's anxiety spike. He thought back to the message Crowley had sent him earlier that day. _Can we talk? In person? I think I'd like to get to know you more. I'm sorry I was a prat last time._ That could mean a lot of talking about many sensitive things. But it was only fair. Crowley deserved to know what he was getting into, and that included learning about Claude. 

It would be healthy to talk about, Aziraphale was certain. It was a good idea even. That didn't stop him from feeling sick to his stomach as he quickly clocked out and gathered his things. He wondered if Crowley realized just to what extent he held Aziraphale's heart in the palm of his hand. One way or another, Crowley was going to judge him tonight. Aziraphale didn't like it, but he couldn't help feeling that the opinion of this one man was going to determine his worth as a human being. Anathema would disagree and try to tell him about the worth of his own self-esteem, he knew. Yet she had never been as lonely as he was.

Tonight would determine if he deserved his loneliness. 

With that cheerful thought in mind, Aziraphale strode over to Crowley, an uncertain smile on his face. He glanced at the small bouquet. It was made up of tall, purple flowers, each blooming into dozens of small petals. “Are these for me?” Aziraphale asked quietly. The answer seemed obvious, but he didn't like to assume.

Crowley glanced down. “Yeah. I just thought...I hope it's okay. They're hyacinths. They're supposed to be apology flowers. In, y'know, flower language.” He looked back up and over Aziraphale's shoulder to where Newt and Chalky were still standing, obviously staring. “Can we, ah, do this somewhere else?”

“Oh, right, of course.” Aziraphale blushed and waved good-bye to his boss and co-worker before following Crowley out the door. 

Things were quiet as they climbed into the Bentley. The evening may have started with flowers, but they both knew this would be no ordinary date. Crowley broke the silence by handing Aziraphale the small parcel he'd been carrying. “Here, it's a belated birthday present, since I didn't know to get you one last time.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said without thinking. He took the present with an odd mix of emotions. On the one hand, he was happy to be getting a gift. One from Crowley even. On the other hand, from the present's dimensions, it was easy to tell that it was a book. The last thing Aziraphale needed right now was another book in his life.

Still, he didn't want to appear ungracious. He smiled at Crowley and unwrapped the present. It was indeed a book, or rather two books. It was two slim volumes in a case. They looked...old. Aziraphale turned on the overhead light to get a better look at them. 

It was an antique edition of _Jane Eyre_. For a moment Aziraphale stopped breathing. He carefully opened the first volume to the copyright information. It was dated from 1905. Hardly a first edition then, but that certainly would have been too much. As it was, the books were the most thoughtful gift Aziraphale had ever received. He couldn't say anything for a minute. He was too busy trying to fight back tears and hoping Crowley wouldn't notice.

This wasn't right. He shouldn't feel this way. He shouldn't feel scared and confused and suspicious at receiving a kind and considerate present. He shouldn't be wondering what Crowley wanted to get out of it, what Aziraphale was being manipulated into. He should just be able to be thankful. 

Would anything in his life ever be that simple?

After the silence had stretched to an uncomfortably long amount, Crowley cleared his throat and nervously spoke. “It wasn't a lot, if that's what you're worried about. Got it for about thirty quid at an antique bookshop. I was just...I was passing by and thought of you.” Still Aziraphale didn't say anything. 

Crowley shifted awkwardly in his seat. “I finished reading it, you know. Not this copy, but the one you sold me. It was nice. I'm glad it had a happy ending, even if Rochester's a bit of an arse. I...” He paused, clearly looking for the right words to say. “It was a good story. I think I understand why you like it so much. You must have related to Jane a lot. Getting stuck in a place like Lowood and having an awful family and all. It sounds similar to growing up in a c—”

“She gave me hope,” Aziraphale interrupted. His voice was strained from trying to keep from sobbing. “There was a time when I thought I didn't have the slightest chance at happiness and Jane's story inspired me to take a chance and try to make a life for myself, just for myself. It went against everything I'd been taught, everything I grew up knowing. But, ultimately I had to try.”

“...Well. Hell of a book then.” Crowley bit his lip then looked straight at Aziraphale. “Listen, I don't want you to have to relive a bunch of painful memories just for my sake. I know I said I want to talk, and I do want to understand you better, but I also understand if you just want to go for a drive and listen to some music or something.”

Aziraphale gave him a small smile. “That's quite alright, my dear boy. I've been preparing myself for this since our last, er, encounter. If I'm going to scare you off again, I'd rather do it now.”

Crowley sighed. “Alright, I deserved that. Do you want me to drive while you talk?”

“Yes, that would be lovely.” This would be easier if they didn't have to look at each other. “Though please keep us at a reasonable speed. I don't need my life flashing before my eyes anymore than it already will be.”

Crowley barked out a laugh. “I think I can manage that. Not like we're going anywhere specific anyway.”

That would have to do. It made Aziraphale nervous though to see that Crowley wasn't taking off his sunglasses to drive this time, even though it was night. Oh well, Aziraphale was just going to have to trust him in yet another way. Crowley started the Bentley and pulled away from the curb. The whisper of the engine soothed Aziraphale. He took a deep breath and began his story.

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I was born into a group called the Hosts of the Higher Power. It had the flavoring of your typical Abrahamic-style church. They believed in one God or God-like power and, naturally, following their ways was the only path to getting close to that God. 

I never knew my parents because they were both members of the church and the Hosts didn't believe in individual families. They insisted that the entire church was a family, that we all needed to give up thinking of ourselves as individuals and see ourselves as tools for God's will. I didn't understand that philosophy very well as a boy. All I knew was that I had one very large family and no birthday parties. We also didn't celebrate any holidays, as we were meant to keep the spirit of God alive in us year-round. And, again, no presents. 

That used to bother me back when, well, for a number of years. At school I saw all the other children talking about their birthdays and Father Christmas. Ultimately though, it was a small price to pay for the knowledge that I would one day ascend to heaven and my classmates would not. Actually, that was a very hard truth to bear. I was never very popular in school, but the idea of even the worst of my bullies burning for all eternity was horrible. I cried to my family, or rather the members of the church, often back then.

Our leader was a woman named Raphael. She was old even when I was born, but I always thought she was beautiful. She just had this calm serenity about her all the time. She was the one who had the visions that would guide our church. It was often events we had to protest or where we would find our next batch of converts, but she also had visions for more mundane matters, like what businesses to invest in. She kept our whole church supported through her insights. Though, looking back, I'm sure she was just a shrewd businesswoman. 

She was also, unsurprisingly, incredibly charismatic. Crowley, I can't properly describe what it was like to be in her presence. She always had time for you. Anything you said, no matter how silly, was of the utmost importance to her. She loved, truly _loved_ all of us. At least...it felt like she did. When I was a child and a teen I used to feel so much guilt because I knew I was supposed to be devoting myself to the Almighty, but really everything I did was for Raphael. 

You have no idea what devastation it caused the day she died.

She was old. Her death shouldn't have been a surprise. Indeed, the church was prepared for it on a functional level. A successor had already been chosen. But emotionally? We never could have been ready. She was the glue that held us together, that made us feel like we were working toward a common purpose. Without her, everything became chaos.

It was because of that chaos that I was able to go to uni. 

I'd always done well in school, particularly in my English lessons. I loved to read and I knew I wanted to study more once I graduated. It was the first thing I wanted badly enough to fight for. The members of the church wanted me to stay and get a job, something that would contribute to our community. I wanted to help the church too, but I was convinced I could do more for them if I continued my studies. 

Ultimately, I sort of just slipped through the cracks. Everyone in my family was distracted by trying to make things right after Raphael's death. I filled out my application work and simply headed off one day. It was a bit secretive perhaps, but I had my own healing to do and, as I said, I truly believed my education would ultimately help the church. That was the plan, anyway. Instead, I found out why my former mentors didn't want me to expand my worldview. 

At university I was able to indulge my love of learning like I never had before. I focused my studies on literature, but I also tried classes in a number of other areas...including a theology class.

I had always known about other religions, of course. I had just never been told much in the way of details when it came to how other faiths differed from my own. I only knew that my family was right and everyone else was wrong, that _we_ were the special ones chosen to ascend to heaven and stand by God's side. I had been taught that it wasn't a good idea to ask too many questions about other religions because they might seduce me away from the true faith. 

I suppose in some ways attending that class at all was a bit of an act of rebellion. It didn't feel that way though. I simply felt curious and confident enough in my own devotion that I wasn't afraid to learn a bit. And my professor was such a kind, understanding woman. She reminded me of Raphael at a time when I desperately needed guidance. Her name was Rachel and I think she knew there was something seriously wrong in my life from the moment we met. I still remember her smiling at me questioningly when I first shook her hand.

I used to go to her office every chance I had to discuss religion and philosophy. I would try to find the loopholes and hypocrisies in whatever faiths we were studying at the time. I laughed at the ideas that people would come up with to guide their lives, though I never spoke about my own background. I had been taught early on that the secrets of my church were not for the masses. Still, while I knew Rachel wasn't part of my church, I think she was Jewish, I expected her to laugh with me from time to time, to share in the cosmic joke that humanity could believe the most absurd things.

But she didn't laugh. Never. Instead she would discuss the philosophy of God or gods, speak calmly and quite lovingly about the beautiful acts that religion has inspired, while not glossing over its horrors either. She did this for every faith I brought up, even the ones like Pastafarianism that were meant to be absurd she treated with respect and dignity. 

She seemed so well-informed too. I couldn't help but admire her intelligence. I began to wonder about her, spiritually. My old childhood fears came back. I cared about Rachel. I didn't want her to burn in hell when she died! And, perhaps selfishly, I wanted to know if she had even heard of the Hosts of the Higher Power. One day I finally had the courage to ask her.

I had planned on trying to convert her, convincing her to become a member of the Hosts herself. There was also something else though. She had never held back from admitting the flaws of whatever religion we discussed. I didn't think about it consciously, but I knew that she would look at my own faith with the same critical eye. I...I think perhaps, looking back, that I wanted to be confronted with that criticism. In my mind I had no doubts about the Hosts, their rules and ways were absolute. I would have laughed at anyone else trying to debate me about them. With Rachel, I truly expected to face her questions and come out the victor, the first person she'd met of the one true faith.

But maybe, just possibly, I wanted _her_ to save _me_.

She said she hadn't heard of the Hosts, though I think she at least had an idea of where the conversation was going to go. She seemed so peaceful and yet so sad. It was exactly the sort of look Raphael would have had if she were worried about me. So, when Rachel asked if I knew much about cults...I listened.

It was a long conversation that we had over many weeks. I won't bore you with the details, but suffice it to say that I transitioned from seeing it as an intellectual debate to feeling like my very existence was being attacked. She made me cry one day. Not out of cruelty, she never stopped being kind. But what she was saying became too much for me. She could see I was upset and she did the kindest thing anyone had ever done for me. She gave me a book.

It was the first present anyone had ever given me and it was about to destroy my world. 

It was a book about cults, naturally, written by a survivor who had successfully left their cult behind. They talked about the charismatic leader they'd had, the single-minded thinking, the absence of individuality, all things that rang true to me. Aside from some minor details, the author could have been writing about my life.

It was...troubling to say the least, and what I read weighed on me for quite some time. I couldn't deny the logic in what Rachel and this author were telling me, but at the same time I couldn't deny that my heart still lay with the Hosts and everything they were supposed to stand for. I felt sick with the contradictions that were running through me.

And there was something else, something that made it impossible for me to believe that my church was just another cult of the world. It was the miracles. The Hosts of the Higher Power performed miracles, ones that I had grown up seeing on a regular basis. 

You see, my church had two general ranks: the congregation and the Hosts. New recruits and lower members of the church were all members of the congregation and the Hosts were those who had been chosen by God Herself to lead us. I already told you that Raphael claimed to have visions. Well, that wasn't the end of it. I'd seen her glow, heal people, and even unfurl great wings and hover among us. Our lesser leaders could do similar things, but never as magnificently as Raphael could. That was why no one ever questioned her leadership. She was clearly the most blessed among us. 

I tried to explain these things to Rachel, our most sacred of secrets. She didn't believe me. Really, I shouldn't have been surprised. But I was. It had never even occurred to me to doubt the miracles I had seen. I had never had chance really. I had grown up with miracles being a basic part of my life, like a belief in Father Christmas that came with meeting the man as he stepped out of my fireplace every year. It just seemed practical. 

Rachel tried to tell me gently about the 'magic-users' of the world, false psychics, fortune tellers, faith healers, and the like. She even introduced me to the basics of stage magic, showing me how to make a coin appear behind someone's ear.

She was so kind to me, Crowley. I'll forever regret the cruel things I said to her that day. 

Because I didn't believe what she was saying. I couldn't. It would mean destroying the very foundation of my life. It would mean that everyone I had ever loved had lied to me. Even worse, it would mean I was part of world where there was no guarantee that I would have a place by God's side in the afterlife, or even that there necessarily _was_ a God. I was just a teenager and I had never been so terrified in my life. 

So I ran away. I left school for winter break and went back home as quickly as I could. Our new leader was more comfortable in his position now and was starting to put things back in order. 

Gabriel...was not who I would have chosen to replace Raphael if I had had a voice in the matter. I had known him my whole life, from when he was a teen himself to the man that he became. He was always popular in the church, always had a way of charming people and getting what he wanted. But he lacked Raphael's kindness, her infinite patience. Maybe if I hadn't gone to university I would have come to accept him as the new guiding force in my life. As it was, I had too many questions to simply accept anything. 

He wanted to see me as soon as I got back. He said he had been worried about me, all alone in the great big world. (My school was only a few hours away by train.) He asked how the university had been treating me. He had this sharp look in his eyes. Like he already knew what getting a formal education would do to me, the doubts it would plant. That look scared me. It scared me enough that I lied, though perhaps not very well. 

I told him that everything was fine. I said it was strange to be surrounded by non-believers and that I missed my family, but that there was nothing to worry about. I don't think he was convinced. He said some very rude things about the academics at my school and hinted that he'd be seeing to it that I wouldn't go back. For my own good, of course. I was horrified, but I didn't say anything. I...have always had trouble standing up to authority figures, particularly egotistical ones like Gabriel. I wish I had said something then. There are far too many occasions I wish I had said something.

That night we had our usual service. It felt so good to be among my friends again that I could almost forget the doubts that were plaguing me. They all asked me how school was going and I gave them simple, bland answers. I couldn't help but notice how nervous they seemed when they spoke to me though, how worry filled their eyes. 

Then the service began and Gabriel went to the front of the church. He proselytized about the great future we had ahead of us and shared several visions he'd had about where our powers would be needed next. 

He also made a long speech about the dangers of doubt in our congregation. How it could lead to an eternity of damnation if it were allowed to fester. I kept my gaze down while he spoke, but I couldn't help feeling that his eyes were on me the entire time.

When the service was nearing its end, I held my breath. This was the part of the evening when Raphael would always perform her miracles. It was what I had been waiting for, the proof my heart hinged on.

Sure enough, the lights brightened, our choir began to sing, and Gabriel hovered into the air. He didn't unfurl great wings like Raphael did, but he didn't need to. The crowd was awed enough as it was.

Except for me.

For the first time I wasn't watching my High Host in wonder. Instead, I was looking around the church. The whole thing seemed a bit, well, showy. I knew that Gabriel wasn't actually glowing, but I'd never before noticed my sisters and brothers working the spotlights. I'd never realized that I knew the names of every person singing in the choir. This wasn't holy. It wasn't special. It was just...playacting. 

So was Gabriel acting too?

After the ceremony I went through the door Gabriel had just left by. I found him in the back room. And then I saw it. I saw the harness. I saw the _strings_! Gabriel's eyes met mine and I saw them widen in shock, then fury. He yelled that I wasn't supposed to be back there. I was still such a child. I stuttered an apology and left.

I didn't know where to go after that. I felt like I had been kicked in the stomach, like I was bleeding internally. My home wasn't my home anymore. Everything about it was a lie.

It was Sandalphon who found me eventually. The local library was closed at that hour, but I had still gone there for comfort. Sandalphon is...not a nice man, even by Gabriel's standards. He threatened me quite blatantly, ordered me not to repeat what I had seen. He said I would lose everything. I thought I already had, but I was wrong. Somehow they knew where to hurt me most. 

Crowley, I...I never saw Rachel again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this isn't a very shippy chapter, but it was a story that needed to be told. Let me know if you have any questions about Aziraphale's background that I didn't answer!
> 
> And, as always, reviews are immensely appreciated!


	10. Lost Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale shares more of his secrets. Crowley wrestles with his feelings.

**Chapter Ten**

Crowley had run out of places to drive.

Well, perhaps that wasn't strictly true. There were always places to drive. But they had now gone down all the roads that Crowley knew automatically, that he could go down without thinking about it. That was what he needed right now if he was going to keep driving. He needed to move without thinking because his whole attention was being eaten up by Aziraphale's story. 

It was compelling and it was sad, certainly sadder than Crowley's own life. At least _he'd_ been able to fight back against those who had oppressed him. At least he'd never been manipulated into believing in cheap magic tricks. Just thinking about it made Crowley furious. Aziraphale was a kind and innocent man. He didn't deserve any of what he'd been through. 

Crowley wanted to tell him that, wanted to hold him and comfort him and make him believe he was safe. It wouldn't be that easy though. How could anything help Aziraphale recover from the enormous betrayal he'd been through? How could _Crowley_ of all people make a difference?

Worst of all, Crowley could tell Aziraphale's story was hardly over. There were still painful memories to recount. Crowley pulled the Bentley into a cinema car park and waited.

“Am I scaring you?” asked Aziraphale. He sounded small and very scared himself. Crowley wondered at the amount of courage Aziraphale was showing by telling him all this now. About growing up in a cult that tricked and manipulated him from the day he was born. Crowley felt all the more sick with guilt from the way he had acted before, running away and trying to protect himself.

It was a lot. It was certainly a lot. But Crowley found that the more he listened to Aziraphale's story, the less he wanted to run away. He wanted to hold Aziraphale, somehow try to make up for his years of pain. 

The trouble was, Crowley was starting to wonder if that urge was really a selfless one or not. After all, he still had plenty of his own baggage he wished someone would hug him over. Maybe he just wanted someone to hold him in return. 

“You aren't scaring me,” Crowley said. “Believe me, I don't _actually_ scare easily. You can keep going. What happened to Rachel? Why didn't you ever see her again?”

Aziraphale sighed deeply. “That one took me a while to work out. She was simply gone when I returned to school. Her classes were all canceled and no one seemed to know what had happened to her.” He stopped staring ahead and looked directly at Crowley, both fearful and assessing. “There's someone else I should tell you about too.”

“And who's that?”

“...His name was Claude.”

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Claude was someone else who meant a lot to me in my time at university. He was my first boyfriend, the first person I had ever dated. I was so oblivious at first that I didn't even realize he liked me until he kissed me. After that, well, a whole world opened up for me.

I'd never been in love before, never known someone to love me like that. It was incredible. And it was more than that. It wasn't just that someone loved me, it was that someone saw me as an _individual_, not just as part of some strange church or another member of the student body. Claude asked about my interests and laughed when I joked. He cared when I was upset and would talk to me for long hours into the night. He was funny, he was interesting, and he was beautiful. 

At first I was concerned when we started dating. I knew that sooner or later I would have to tell him about my church and that the Hosts would want to know about him and judge for themselves if he was worthy of joining us.

To my surprise, Claude started talking to me about religion before I ever brought it up. He was an atheist himself, a position that fascinated me, but he had a strong interest in the faiths of the world. We actually met in Rachel's theology class and, besides myself, he was her most vocal student. 

I didn't tell him about the Hosts though, not for some time. I wanted to keep my secrets and a part of me was scared of driving Claude away. I knew even then that the claims of my church seemed outlandish to outsiders. After my...disillusionment with the Hosts of the Higher Power I was heart-broken. It wasn't helped at all by the fact that my favorite professor and mentor had disappeared.

Being with Claude was one of the only solaces I had for months. My church tried to contact me. Most of my family had no idea what had happened. I received calls and visits that both threatened and pleaded with me to return. They said I would regret turning away from the Hosts. Sometimes they said they missed me. I did my best to ignore them. Claude didn't know just what was going on, only that my family and I were having a conflict over religion. He tried to comfort me. When that didn't work he'd...distract me. 

The care Claude showed me was incredible. At least, that was what I told myself. I think I would have loved anyone who showed me the time of day back then. I thought it was only out of concern when he started to ask me questions about my family, about my church. I never thought it was suspicious when he bought himself expensive new clothes and a computer. And all I felt was personal guilt and shame when he started suggesting that I forgive my family and go back to them.

Then one day I came upon Claude doing something I'd never expected. He was praying. 

I asked him about it and he said that he was giving religion another shot, that he'd been wanting to feel more purpose in his life. Claude had always felt himself to be a bit of an outcast. He said that he'd found a faith that made him feel welcome recently. 

I was a fool not to see what was coming the moment he invited me to go to a service with him.

The Hosts...they don't convert everyone they meet. I suppose not everyone is suited to the cult mindset. But when they set their sights on claiming one person, that person can rarely say no for long. Everyone has their weaknesses that make them vulnerable to manipulation. Claude was no exception. 

He brought me to a service of the Hosts with no warning and with genuine joy in his eyes. He truly thought he was doing a good thing for me. He told me that they were so kind and understanding to him, not to mention generous. They had listened to his problems in a way that apparently I couldn't. They'd paid his bills and even given him gifts, all for the simple price of hearing their comfortable and straight-forward sermons. 

It sounded lovely the way he said it. He even seemed to actually believe it had been his idea to take me to them. Gabriel's triumphant smile told me otherwise.

I was horrified, repulsed, broken all over again. My lover, the one person left who I trusted, had been taken from me by the very ones I knew I could never trust again. I'm not proud of how I reacted. I didn't know what else to do. My breath caught in my chest and I began to sob. I...I became a sniveling mess. It was pathetic. Gabriel came forward to comfort me and it was all I could do to recoil away from him. He looked so kind, so apologetic. He said there had been a dreadful misunderstanding between us. He said I could come home, that Claude could even come with me, and that everything would be alright. All I had to do was take his hand.

Crowley, I'm sorry. I wish you didn't have to hear about me at my worst. That moment was the greatest temptation of my life. Rachel was gone. Claude was as good as gone. What did I have left in the outside world except heartbreak and some vague principles? In that moment it seemed like it would be so easy to go back, to just forget what I had learned, what I had seen. I almost reached for Gabriel's hand.

Then a thought occurred to me. 

How had they known to recruit Claude? No part of me believed that was mere chance. That meant that they knew things about me that I hadn't told them. They had been watching me and looking for my vulnerabilities, just like they would with anyone else.

So I asked him. What had he done to Rachel?

Gabriel is usually very good at keeping his expressions in check. Now, for the second time, I had caught him off-guard. He looked shocked and then his eyes went dark with anger before he finally got a hold of himself and he said he didn't know what I was talking about. It was too late though. We both knew he was lying.

I turned back to Claude. I pleaded with him to leave with me. I tried to explain that the Hosts were bad people and liars, that they had done something to our beloved professor. He didn't want to hear it. He told me I was being ridiculous, that my church had nothing to do with Rachel leaving. No matter what I said, I couldn't convince him. Then I saw Sandalphon hiding in the corner and looking murderous. I knew I had to go then, and I had to go alone.

So I did. I left and I cried and I did everything I could not to look back. They didn't make it easy for me though. 

Soon after I got a call from my university's financial office. My tuition was no longer being paid. Then I got a similar notice about my phone. My church was cutting me off financially and without any warning. I had to scramble to fill out financial aid forms and find a job. I had to plead for mercy and understanding in nearly every quarter while still emotionally reeling. It was a hard few months where I had no one to turn to. 

Claude tried to contact me a number of times. To this day I have no idea if it was his own initiative or the church that made him do it. I just know that when the Hosts started a recruitment drive near campus, he was always there with them. I missed him dearly, but he was clearly lost to me.

As you might imagine, my grades started to suffer at that time. I did my best to keep up with my classes and my new job, but it was all too much. I was in the midst of a depression like I had never known before. I barely passed my first year at uni. Then I...I just didn't have the strength to go back. The whole campus had too many sad memories for me. More than that, I could tell the Hosts were still watching me, waiting for me to grow desperate enough to go back to them. Instead I did something desperate. I moved to London without telling anyone where I was going. I got a job working with books. I kept to myself as much as I could. I managed to barely get by. And that's where I've been ever since. 

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Aziraphale sighed and continued looking down as Crowley watched him. Crowley wondered if there was more Aziraphale wanted to say, but the silence stretched between them and Crowley realized the story must be over.

Crowley tried to gather his thoughts. It was a lot to take in. In some ways the story had been about what he had expected. After all, he'd known going in that Aziraphale had grown up in a cult and was now no longer part of one. He had expected a story filled with pain and disillusionment. What he hadn't expected was just how much courage Aziraphale had showed at every step along his journey. He had resisted going back to the people who had lied to him and hurt him even though it would have been the easy thing to do, even though they now had the man he had loved in their grasp.

He didn't know what to say. Aziraphale was so brave, but also so hurt. How could Crowley possibly help with all that pain? Yet how could he possibly walk away at this point? He wanted to take Aziraphale in his arms and kiss him until all his fears went away. But Crowley sensed that that wouldn't really help either of them right now. No, the situation called for a gentler touch. 

Aziraphale's hands were clasped together in his lap, looking tight and tense. Crowley reached out and lightly covered them with his own hand. It took a moment, but soon Aziraphale seemed to relax a bit. His hands unclasped and wound around Crowley's, like vines growing up a tree.

“That's a fucked up life you've had,” Crowley said with gentle humor. “Don't know if you're doing any better going after me.”

Aziraphale chuckled dryly. “I doubt that I could do much worse. At least you've already shown me that you can be a bit of a prat. Makes the whole thing seem more real. You're not too good to be true. You're just right.” He looked up and gave Crowley a small smile. “Besides, you got me an antique _Jane Eyre_. If nothing else I can always sell that if things go horribly wrong.”

“Right.” Crowley smiled back, but he didn't feel it. He didn't want to be talking about the possibility of him hurting Aziraphale. He didn't want to think of Aziraphale being hurt ever again. He hated that the world had already been so cruel to this sweet angel of a man when he was young and naive. He hated himself for not knowing how to put his feelings into words.

“Could we, I don't know, hug or something?” Crowley asked, blushing slightly.

Aziraphale looked cautious. “It's not a hug good-bye, is it? I'd really rather not have to walk home from here.”

Crowley frowned. “A hug good-bye? After you've spilled your tragic life story? I'm hardly that much of an arse. For crying out loud, just call me a demon to my face next time!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Aziraphale said hastily. He undid his seat belt and reached out to Crowley. “I swear I try not to think the worst of people. I'm just a bit jaded these days unfortunately.”

Crowley took Aziraphale in his arms and held him tightly, perhaps more tightly than was necessary. “It's okay,” he said roughly. “I really understand.”

And they held each other that way for quite some time.

Somehow, almost miraculously, that was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of Aziraphale's baggage, for now anyway. Next up is a lot of fluff if things go the way I'm planning! In the meantime, please leave some comments to let me know if you're enjoying the story. I can't emphasize enough how much your kind words encourage me!
> 
> Also, feel free to contact me on tumblr at comicgeekery. I'd love to hear from you!


	11. A Warm Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After several weeks of dating, Aziraphale goes over to Crowley's for a night in. Disney movies ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was taking a long time so I broke it in half. I hope you all enjoy it!

**Chapter Eleven**

Aziraphale had known things would change after telling Crowley about his past. He had expected to scare him away. Instead, the opposite happened. They began to date each other in earnest. 

It wasn't easy with their conflicting schedules. Crowley was busy nannying all day on the weekdays and helping with the cabaret on weekend evenings. Aziraphale had frequent shifts at night and on the weekends. Still, they managed to see each other several times a week. It got to the point where if they had any spare time that overlapped it was a matter of course that they would see each other. 

It should have made Aziraphale happy. It did, in fact. But there was more to it than that. Crowley was kind to him. He pulled out Aziraphale's chair at restaurants. He asked how Aziraphale was doing everyday. He even started driving his car at reasonable speeds whenever they went somewhere together. Overall Crowley was showing a sort of nice gentleness that would have charmed most people. 

It was frustrating Aziraphale to no end. 

The problem was, Crowley was holding back. Aziraphale could tell. Crowley wasn't giving him wicked grins anymore. He wasn't teasing him or encouraging him to do things he wouldn't normally do. Crowley was treating him like a delicate vase covered in bubble-wrap. This wasn't the man that Aziraphale had become so drawn to. That man ran cabaret events and drove too fast for comfort. That man delighted in surprising Aziraphale and had wanted to ravish him at one point. Now Crowley didn't even seem bold enough to go in for a kiss.

Aziraphale had a feeling he knew what the problem was. Crowley was afraid of hurting him. Now that Crowley knew about all the pain Aziraphale had gone through in his early adulthood, he was tiptoeing around Aziraphale as though he were a fragile thing that would break at the slightest touch. 

It wouldn't do. Especially not when Aziraphale was starting have dreams about Crowley's touch and in them he was far from gentle. Crowley seemed like a man full of fire. Aziraphale wanted to see him let it out again.

So, as Christmas came around, Aziraphale bought a decent bottle of wine and resolved that they would drink it together then have a very good snog. Maybe they would even get a bit handsy. Aziraphale felt like living on the edge. 

It was all perfect. Aziraphale had the day off. Anathema had promised to be out for the evening. Crowley would be by in a few hours to visit Aziraphale at his flat for the first time. Aziraphale showered and cleaned and, after a few minutes debating the idea, undid the first button of his shirt, even going without his bow-tie for the evening. 

It was then that he got the text.

**C: Sorry, I have to cancel. Warlock is sick and his parents are off to a Christmas party tonight. I really wish I could come, but the little kid is miserable. I swear I'll make it up to you!**

At once Aziraphale's heart sank. This wasn't the first time Crowley had been forced to cancel plans because his employers didn't prioritize spending time with their own child, but Aziraphale had hoped they would be safe on Christmas at least. 

Now he would have to spend his Christmas night alone. That wouldn't be so bad, would it? It wasn't like he had grown up with Christmas as a holiday he valued. And he wasn't exactly Christian now either. No, he had just gotten caught up in the music and the lights and everyone professing their good will.

He had thought...maybe a bit of Christmas joy wouldn't be so bad to try. With the right person, anyway.

Crowley. They had never discussed his background much. Aziraphale could tell it was a sensitive topic and he didn't want to push. He didn't even know if Crowley celebrated Christmas. Maybe he had been looking forward to the holiday or maybe it was just like any other day for him. Well, in any case, Aziraphale knew what Crowley _had_ been looking forward to: a day off. He deserved that much at least.

Aziraphale felt a sudden wave of determination. He wasn't going to let this injustice stand. He quickly texted Crowley back.

**A: What's your address? I'll come to you.**

There were a few minutes where his phone told him that Crowley was typing, maybe a long message about how it wouldn't be appropriate for him to come round Crowley's. After all, it was his job and there was a sick child there and...

Finally Crowley sent a message. **C: Okay.** Then he listed the address. 

Aziraphale grinned wildly as called for a ride.

Half an hour later Aziraphale rang the bell at the front gate of the most imposing house he had ever seen. He waved nervously at the security camera that was watching him and hoped that he wasn't going to get in trouble for trespassing. A moment later there was a buzzing sound and the gate slowly opened for him. 

Once he was through he hesitated in the driveway. Crowley had said that he lived in a flat above the garage, but if he was working he was more likely to be in the main house. As Aziraphale stood there debating, the front door to the house opened and Crowley popped his head outside.

“Don't just stand there!” he called. “Get on in before you're spotted!” 

Aziraphale hurried over and slipped inside, smiling all the way. “Am I some dirty secret, then? Can't be seen inviting the lower classes in?”

Crowley snorted. “I think, technically, I'm not supposed to have anyone over when I'm working. _But_ no one ever said that and I've been behaving for three years so I figure you're worth taking a chance with.”

Aziraphale's smile broadened. Crowley did always have a way of making him feel special. “I brought some wine, for after Warlock's asleep. Bit of a Christmas present, if you like.”

“Sounds lovely. But we're going to have to earn it first. Warlock says he wants to watch _Frozen_ tonight. That'll mean a whole Disney marathon if we're not careful.”

Aziraphale looked around. “I think I can manage that. Where is the child? I'd like to properly meet him.”

Then there was a moment, just an instant, where Crowley leaned closer to Aziraphale. Maybe it was nothing, but in that moment Aziraphale had the fleeting sensation that Crowley wanted to kiss him. This wasn't the first time it had happened. They hadn't kissed at all since that first peck after the magic show. It seemed to be another area where Crowley was dancing around Aziraphale, too nervous to take the initiative and go after what he wanted. 

At least, that was what Aziraphale hoped was happening. The alternative was that Crowley just didn't want to kiss him all that much. That would be quite unfortunate, as Crowley's lips were one of Aziraphale's favorite things to think about these days. They were a happy alternative to thinking of work or being haunted by his past, that was for certain.

So Crowley had leaned closer to him and then just as quickly leaned away again. That was fine. There would be plenty of time to address the matter later. Instead Crowley led Aziraphale up the stairs of the impressive house to an upscale child's bedroom. It had a large train set to one side and a pile of enormous stuffed animals in the corner. Both looked rather neglected compared to the wide-screen television and video game system that took up most of the wall opposite the bed. Warlock was sitting up in said bed, excitedly guiding Princess Peach along a racetrack. Aside from being in bed in his pajamas this early in the evening, the child didn't even seem sick.

Then Warlock had to pause the game to let out a nasty, wet-sounding series of coughs. He groaned when he was done then looked up at Crowley and Aziraphale for the first time. “What's the bookstore man doing here? Is he also a doctor? Tell him I don't need any shots!”

Crowley smirked fondly. “He's not a doctor. He's my friend. He came by to keep me company while I take care of you.”

Warlock looked back and forth between them for a long moment then loudly whispered to Crowley. “Is he your _boyfriend_?”

The question made Aziraphale blush instantly. Clearly Warlock was more perceptive than he had assumed, particularly for a child who wasn't allowed to know about queer-related things. Aziraphale stuttered and stammered as he tried to think how to answer him. Was the truth best? But the truth was he didn't _know_ if he and Crowley qualified as boyfriends. They'd only known each other for a few months now. At the same time, they'd been seeing so much of each other lately. Oh, but they hadn't even had a second kiss, let alone talked about their relationship status!

Desperately Aziraphale looked to Crowley for some sort of reassurance or assistance, only to find Crowley was watching him with a deeply amused expression. Crowley went over to Warlock and ruffled his hair.

“Nice try,” Crowley said. “But my personal life is still private until you learn how to be subtle. Got it?”

“What's subtle mean?” Warlock asked, still watching Aziraphale suspiciously.

“Exactly.” Crowley took the video game controller from Warlock and set it by the television, out of the child's reach. “Now how about we get you some soup and put on a movie?” He murmured to Aziraphale. “Do you mind watching _Frozen_? I know it's probably not suited to your refined tastes, but Warlock is sick and...”

Aziraphale held up a hand. “It's perfectly alright. I'm fine with whatever he would like to watch. Besides, it should be fun. I've never seen a Disney movie before. I've heard they're quite splendid!”

“You've never seen a...right. Of course.” Crowley frowned and looked away, moving slightly away from Aziraphale in the process. “Well, this is an alright one, I suppose. It has a witch that can spontaneously create life and could control her kingdom with an icy fist. The music is pretty good too.”

“I...I look forward to it then.” Aziraphale bit his lip in slight distress. Yes, alright, the Hosts of the Higher Power had never allowed him to watch most films growing up. That was a thing that had made people incredulous or sad for him in the past. He just wished it didn't affect Crowley so. Was he losing Crowley's interest? Did he feel too sorry for Aziraphale to simply dump him outright? The thought filled Aziraphale with distress, but also something else. He felt a sense of determination too.

He wasn't going to let his past define him. Not again.

Crowley was bent over Warlock's bed, fussing over his pillow. Aziraphale stepped closer to them and put his hand on Crowley's shoulder. Crowley jumped slightly. Had it really been so long since they had touched? That was another thing Aziraphale resolved to change. He wanted to touch Crowley. He wanted to touch him a lot.

For now though, he said, “The child hardly looks bedridden, Crowley. If we're going to watch a film, why don't we do it downstairs where we can all be comfortable on a sofa? I'm sure a place this grand must have an impressive entertainment center of some sort.”

“Three of them,” Crowley admitted. He looked over at Aziraphale's hand, still on his shoulder, and seemed to hesitate. “...Alright then. Let's go downstairs.”

_Frozen_ turned out to be a rather sweet film, not quite so dark as Crowley had implied. The story was entertaining and the music was delightful. To Aziraphale's surprise, Warlock knew all the words to every song and tried very hard to get Crowley to sing with him.

“Not on your life, kid,” Crowley replied evenly. However, Aziraphale had the impression that Crowley was glancing at _him_ as he said it. Aziraphale wondered just how much singing tended to happen on the days where no one else was around to see them. 

They were close on the sofa. Warlock had chosen to watch from the floor, clutching a teddy bear, so Crowley and Aziraphale had nothing between them. Aziraphale wanted to lean against Crowley, to put his head on Crowley's shoulder. But it seemed like too much. It was too daring, too sudden. Instead Aziraphale kept glancing at Crowley during the movie, trying to gauge what he was thinking and waiting for a chance to do...something.

Then came the scene with Elsa's most popular song. Even Aziraphale had heard 'Let It Go' before, on the radio and from little children singing it as they wandered through the bookstore. He had just never seen it in context before. He'd never realized that she was singing about being free from an oppressive life that had held her back so much. It was a beautiful song. However, Aziraphale couldn't help noticing that Crowley reached under his sunglasses to wipe at his eyes during it. Was it possible that Crowley was crying? It was certainly an emotional scene, but then maybe he just had something in his eyes.

Either way, Aziraphale felt the moment was right to make his move. He reached out to Crowley's hand and gently took it in his. Once again Crowley flinched noticeably. He turned his head to Aziraphale and Aziraphale smiled reassuringly. Crowley looked like he wanted to say something. His mouth opened and closed several times. But then he glanced down at Warlock, so absorbed in the film and singing along to the song. Crowley just smiled slightly and wove his fingers through Aziraphale's.

It made Aziraphale feel like singing too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is a very sentimental sort. You'll get to see what he's been thinking this whole time in the next chapter!
> 
> Comments are extremely appreciated. Also, please feel free to visit me on tumblr under comicgeekery!


	12. Flirting with the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale finally get a chance to be alone together and chat about the important things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Sorry this chapter took so long to come out. It turned out I had a lot to say! I'm currently staying at home for the foreseeable future though, so my next update should come a lot sooner. Also, this chapter has a lot more Britishisms than before, so I apologize if I used any of them wrong!

**Chapter Twelve**

“Alright, time for bed, Warlock.”

“But Nanny, it's so early! And I haven't even brushed my teeth yet!”

Oh. Right. Of all the times for the kid to finally embrace dental hygiene, it had to be when Crowley had sneaked a date over. A date he desperately wanted to be alone with. 

For weeks now Crowley had been as gentle as he could be with Aziraphale. The man had seen enough pain and ruin in his life. He didn't need the usual amount of mess that Crowley brought with him. In fact, Crowley had been kept up on numerous nights, plagued by thoughts of what might happen if he let his guard down around Aziraphale, all the ways he might hurt or scare him away.

But tonight was beginning to feel different. Aziraphale had insisted on coming over, even though Crowley had warned him away. It couldn't be much fun to abandon a night off and spend Christmas evening watching children’s movies in a stranger's house. Yet here he was, through two Disney movies and bedtime story, still looking at Crowley with that quiet kindness in his eyes.

He was being so patient, so understanding. It made Crowley want to hold him close and smoother him with kisses.

Their first kiss had been...alright, Crowley had decided in hindsight. It was nice enough, but he'd been too nervous to put much effort into it. If they were going to kiss again, and Crowley certainly hoped they would, their second kiss would have to be something truly special. That was where Aziraphale's bottle of wine would hopefully come in handy. Not that Crowley needed alcohol to make himself brave...he just didn't mind the assistance.

So he rushed Warlock through brushing his teeth, gave him some more medicine, and read him one last bedtime story while Aziraphale read a book of his own downstairs. Finally, Crowley gave Warlock a kiss on the forehead and wished him good-night.

“I'll just be over at my flat if you need me,” Crowley explained. “Give me a call if anything comes up.” Warlock might have only been six, but his parents were happy to spoil him with the latest in mobiles. He mostly used them for games, but Warlock had an unfortunate habit of calling Crowley on it in the middle of the night. Then Crowley would grumble, come over, and give any monsters in the child's closet a severe talking to. Sometimes it annoyed Crowley that he didn't get paid extra for the late-night hours, but secretly he was pleased that he was able to make Warlock feel safe. If only his parents could do the same. 

Warlock pulled on Crowley's sleeve just as he was turning to go. “Nanny, do you love 'ziraphale?”

Crowley did his best not to blush. It wasn't an unusual question to be coming from the child. He was learning how love worked lately. He'd asked if his parents loved each other, if Elsa loved Anna, if Dr. Sable loved the mail carrier, and so on. Crowley also suspected that _somehow_ the kid was starting to work out that his nanny wasn't exactly straight. Possibly it had something to do with Crowley being the one to explain that LGBT people existed in the first place. So, this was just another innocent if penetrating question from a young child. No big deal.

“I think it's a bit soon to say that,” Crowley admitted. “I do like him a lot though.”

“Because I think he loves you.”

Suddenly Crowley was paying much closer attention. “Oh. I see. What makes you say that?”

Warlock shrugged. “He looks at you like all he wants is to make you happy. And he held your hand for a long time during the movies, even when he had to cough. That's what I'd do if I were in love.”

Crowley's heart was doing...strange things. Unreasonable things. After all, he and Aziraphale hadn't known each other long enough, well enough, to be in love (had they?). But still, Crowley's heart was quivering at the thought that someone might have genuine feelings for _him_. He'd been so concerned about hurting Aziraphale, that he hadn't thought of how Aziraphale might feel about him.

Did Aziraphale love him? Did Crowley want him to?

Crowley had had crushes in the past, infatuations. But he'd never really tried his hand at a real relationship. Mostly because he knew about the walls he would eventually have to put up. He unconsciously adjusted his sunglasses, then noticed what he was doing and sighed. Alright, so a relationship was never going to be _easy_ for him, but he still wanted to try. Especially for Aziraphale.

He reached out and tussled Warlock's hair. “You're too sweet for your own good, my little demon-in-training. Now get some sleep you. You'll need it if you're going to get well again.”

Warlock looked like he was going to consider arguing, but instead he yawned and nuzzled down into his pillow. “Good-night, Nanny. I love you.”

How could Crowley help but have his heart melt a bit at the adorable little sprog? He whispered, “I love you too.” It was almost more to himself than to Warlock. Even after all this time, Crowley was afraid of admitting that he cared about someone.

Maybe tonight was the night to change that. 

Aziraphale was waiting for Crowley when he finally came downstairs. Crowley noticed he was hastily putting something into his bag just as Crowley stuck his head in the room. Aziraphale even looked a bit flustered and Crowley raised an eyebrow at him.

“I thought you were going to be reading, not pilfering the candlesticks,” Crowley said with a smirk.

Aziraphale blushed and avoided Crowley's gaze. “I wasn't _stealing_. I was just...oh, bother. I was reading on _this_.” And he reached into his bag and pulled out a small, rectangular device. 

It took a moment for Crowley to recognize what he was looking at. Then he gasped in mock-horror. “Is this an _e-reader_? From Amazon even! Just what sort of an independent bookstore employee are you?”

Despite Crowley's teasing tone, Aziraphale hid his face behind his hands in shame. “I know! I feel like I'm living a lie! I love books and the printed word so much and yet...Crowley, I had no choice!”

“There, there,” Crowley said, still chuckling. “I'm not going to shame you for keeping up with technology. You should see the watch I want to get with my Christmas bonus!” And, because it seemed natural, Crowley wrapped an arm around Aziraphale and patted him on the shoulder.

Then they both froze. Crowley could feel Aziraphale gazing at him. Should he look up? Could he stand to look Aziraphale in the eyes just then? Crowley suddenly felt like his heart was going to pound its way out of chest, all from the simple contact of his arm across Aziraphale's back. The touch tingled, just as it had when Aziraphale had held his hand through the movies. It filled Crowley with anticipation, hope, and a whole lot of nerves.

Crowley moved to lift his arm away, but Aziraphale made a tutting noise and curled into the embrace more so that they were face to face. Now there was no avoiding the look in his eyes. Aziraphale looked...guarded, but also determined. 

“You don't always have to run away from me, you know,” Aziraphale said, gently. “Unless...Unless of course you're not interested in me anymore?” 

“What?” Bloody hell. “Not interested? I invited you to my bloody employers' house, didn't I? I held your hand through _two_ Disney movies! I've been thinking about kissing you for weeks now and....and...” Crowley blushed as he realized he had perhaps said too much.

It was an almost unbearable delight to see the grin that grew on Aziraphale's face at Crowley's words. He touched a hand to Crowley's face and Crowley began to breathe heavily. “I've been thinking about it too,” Aziraphale admitted. “The kissing, that is. I think perhaps we should...”

Then their hearts both stopped at the sound of the front door opening. Crowley's eyes felt wide enough that they could be seen from behind his sunglasses. Quickly, he began to pull Aziraphale to the back door, chanting “Shit, shit, shit!” the entire way. 

They made it out the back door just as Crowley was starting to hear the Dowlings' voices filtering through the house. Crowley carefully closed the kitchen door behind him and led Aziraphale on tip-toe back to the garage and Crowley's flat. Annoyingly, Aziraphale did not join him in tip-toeing. Instead he just walked normally and barely suppressed a fit a giggles.

Crowley did his best to glare at him, something which was difficult through the sunglasses. “Would you mind not _giggling_ while I'm in danger of losing my job?”

“Oh, I'm sorry. It's just terribly exciting!” Aziraphale said, still looking gleeful. “I've never been the one someone's been _sneaking around_ with before!”

When they made it through the door to the garage without incident, Crowley began feeling a bit more daring himself. 

“You like living dangerously, do you?” They were on the stairs to Crowley's flat now, with Crowley a few steps above Aziraphale. Crowley was already the taller of them. It made him tower over Aziraphale. 

He was pleased to see Aziraphale gulp as Crowley leaned over him. “Just what sort of danger were you hoping to get into tonight?”

Happily, Aziraphale continued to be adorable. He bit his lower lip and blushed furiously, quickly avoiding Crowley's gaze. “I...Oh, dear. I'm afraid I'm not very good at these things, Crowley.”

“What things?”

“You know...” Aziraphale fidgeted. “Flirting.”

Crowley chuckled, but secretly felt relieved. So they _were_ flirting after all. This was good. This was something that was actually happening. “You didn't seem so bad at it when you were saying that you wanted to kiss me.”

There was more fidgeting, then Aziraphale managed to look up. His beautiful blue eyes were wide and bright. “That's only because, well, I wanted to...to encourage you.”

And that was the sentence that sent Crowley from intrigued to outright horny. Aziraphale had such a soft, innocent expression on his face. The way he was looking up at Crowley, the way his lower lip pouted out, it was like he was just begging to be kissed. And maybe he was. Still, Crowley had made the mistake of thinking with his dick around Aziraphale before. He didn't want to do that again. He didn't know quite what he _did_ want at this point, but he knew he didn't want to see Aziraphale looking disappointed in him ever again.

So Crowley stepped back and withdrew from leaning over Aziraphale. Instead he held out his hand and gently led the sweet angel of a man up to his flat.

“Come on,” Crowley said. “Let's open up that wine you brought.”

“Oh. Alright?” Aziraphale said with surprise and some confusion. “I just thought that we were...” He stopped talking when Crowley suddenly pressed a finger to his lips.

“They'll be plenty of time to discuss...other things after we've had time to settle in a bit.” Crowley tried to sound reassuring, but the truth was he was beside himself with nerves at the idea of really properly kissing Aziraphale. He wanted to do it right. He wanted it to be memorable. He wanted to leave Aziraphale with a giddy feeling in his stomach that would match the fluttery sensation Crowley always had these days when he saw Aziraphale.

It was strange. Crowley had found himself caring more and more for Aziraphale whenever he saw him. At first it was like being under a siren's spell. When they were apart Crowley had been able to think of Aziraphale as someone who was nice enough, but maybe had too much baggage. When they were together Crowley might as well have dressed like a bellhop, for all he wanted to help with that baggage. 

Then, somehow, that indecision had morphed to the point where Crowley just wanted to hold Aziraphale all the time. He just wanted to keep him safe.

And that meant no kisses until Crowley was sure he had himself under control. 

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Crowley had pulled away.

_Why_ had he pulled away, just when things had been getting interesting?! Aziraphale had to make an effort not to huff in frustration. He just wanted a kiss or two and here Crowley was, resisting and demurring like he...

Oh. Oh dear.

Was this how Crowley felt at the end of their first date? All hot and bothered with a partner who wanted to build a significant emotional bond first? Was that what was going on? Was Aziraphale being selfish now? Pushing things too quickly? Maybe Crowley had decided he wanted to take things slowly because he _liked_ Aziraphale.

Still, a month was a rather long time to wait for a second kiss. Aziraphale resolved that they would at least talk things out before the night was through. Perhaps that would make up for the guilt he suddenly felt at the notion that he'd just been using Crowley for physical pleasures. He cared about Crowley! Genuinely valued him as a person! Didn't he?

Aziraphale took a deep breath and tried to wrestle down his guilty feelings. Instead he tried to focus on what was in front of him, namely the open doorway to Crowley's flat. He let Crowley lead him in and then took a look around.

It was surprisingly spacious, probably originally planned as a guest flat for anyone who came to visit the Dowlings. The flat had a nice kitchenette and an adjoining living room with a sloped ceiling. Curiously, the living room had a sofa and several chairs that all faced one wall with a television stand, but no telly. Instead the stand was covered in small potted plants. 

Crowley followed his gaze and scoffed. “Oh yeah, that. There used to be a telly there, but the Dowlings took it out when I moved in. I think they were afraid I'd sell it or something.”

“What?” Aziraphale was aghast. “But why would they even hire you if they didn't feel they could trust you? Surly their son is much more valuable than a telly!”

“So you'd think. I get a lot of mixed messages from that lot.” He went over to the kitchen cabinets and pulled out a couple of mugs. “I hope you don't mind. I haven't got any wineglasses. Got a bottle opener on my pocketknife though.”

“That should be quite alright then,” Aziraphale said almost absently. He was looking around the flat more. It was nicely furnished, but there was something missing. It felt like a hotel room, everything tastefully picked but without a sign of any personality.

The only things that didn't seem to come out of a magazine were the dozen or so potted plants by the windows and on the television stand. Aziraphale took a closer look. They were surprisingly verdant and healthy-looking. Clearly they were getting much better care than the sort Aziraphale had given the few plants he'd tried to cultivate in his life. 

“These plants are lovely,” Aziraphale said kindly. “You've done a wonderful job with them.”

When he turned back to Crowley though, he was surprised to see him furrowing his brow in anger in the direction of his plants.

“They had better be bloody beautiful,” Crowley practically growled. “They know what will happen to them if they aren't!” Then he glanced at Aziraphale and smiled nervously. “I mean...That is...”

“Oh, for heaven's sake, Crowley!” Aziraphale finally burst out. “If you're the sort to be hostile towards your plants for...for some reason...then just go ahead and tell me!” He crossed his arms and looked away, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. “I just...don't want you hiding yourself from me like this. Are you really that scared of hurting me?”

Crowley was quiet for a very long moment. It took several seconds for Aziraphale to feel brave enough to look at him again. Crowley's face was stony and unreadable. He held out a mug of wine and Aziraphale took it gently. 

“Sssorry. I'll just...Be however you want me to be I guess.” Crowley took a long drink from his own mug. His knuckles were white. “I already hurt you once. When I ran away. I don't want to do that again. I also...I don't want to scare you away.”

And this time it was Crowley who looked down and away. Aziraphale felt a fresh wave of concern. Just what was Crowley hiding that might scare him off? Aziraphale swallowed and offered up his best guess.

“Is this about the, um, the Satanists who raised you?” Crowley went very still at the question and didn't look up. Aziraphale continued on. “I, er, did some research. On the internet.” He cleared his throat and tried to act like he wasn't grossly intimidated by what he had seen. “I saw that some satanists see the, um, devil as more of a symbolic figure and they use his image to point out the hypocrisies of Christianity while supporting causes like equal rights for women and LGBT people and....”

Aziraphale trailed off. Crowley was staring at him now, his eyebrows very high on his forehead. 

“You're thinking of The Satanic Temple,” he said at last. “That'sss not what we were like at all.”

Crowley's voice was low and dark. Suddenly Aziraphale had to fight the urge to step away from him. “W-we?” Aziraphale asked.

“I was one of them, angel. There's no point in denying it. I grew up a proper devil-worshiper, me.”

He did his best, but Aziraphale couldn't quite repress the shiver that went down his back. “But you were a child! You didn't know any better!”

The argument didn't seem to sway Crowley, who simply shrugged his shoulders and took another sip of wine. “I told you I'm an agnostic. Who's to say that the people who raised me didn't have the right idea? If there's a God then there's certainly plenty of things I'd like to rebel against Him for.”

“Her.”

“What's that?” Crowley tilted his head and Aziraphale blushed.

“My, um, church, they said...Raphael always said that God was a woman.” He took a sip of his wine, mostly to distract himself from how awkward he felt. “I suppose it's a bit silly to bring up, but it was point I always hung on to. I like the idea of God as a kind mother.”

The next time he glanced at Crowley, Aziraphale was surprised to see he was smiling softly at him. It was a gentle expression Aziraphale hadn't seen on him before. It made Aziraphale's heart flutter slightly. Then Crowley ruined it by talking.

“Well, bollocks to Her, then! Mum can kiss my skinny arse!”

Aziraphale spit out his wine quite violently. “Crowley!” he said, horrified. “You can't say things like that!” Then he looked aghast at the mess he had made. “Oh, dear. I'll clean that up!”

But Crowley was just laughing. “Don't worry about it, angel! The look on your face was worth it!” He went to the kitchen to grab a rag. “Besides, you're the one who said you wanted me to stop holding back. And doesn't it feel freeing to speak up against the bloody Asshole who your church kept threatening you with all your life?”

“As far as I can see, you're the only one insulting Her,” Aziraphale said with irritation. He tried to get back to the topic at hand. “But, _your_ Satanists, how bad were they really? The internet had quite a number of unsettling stories. Murders and torture and all those things, you know.” Aziraphale blushed again. It seemed like such awkward thing to ask. 'Have you been involved in any murders?'

It made Crowley bark out another laugh, this one more bitter than before. “Nah, they weren't that flavor of evil. Hard to get people to join you if you're handing out bloody knives every Sunday. My lot focused on white collar crime if you will.”

“What, like embezzlement?”

“Sure. Probably some of that.”

Aziraphale gave him a look. “I really don't think you're taking this seriously.”

Crowley gave him a look right back. “That's probably because I really don't want to talk about it.” He pushed his sunglasses further up his nose. “Look, I've never killed anyone, I've never trafficked children or whatever, and I even kept out of drugs. Can that be enough for you?”

“I...I don't know.” Aziraphale bit his lip. It was strange being in this position. On the one hand, they seemed to have something in common with their rocky, religious pasts. On the other hand, Aziraphale felt vulnerable and exposed having explained so much of his life to Crowley and now getting so very little in return. Still, it wouldn't be fair to force Crowley to open up. He clearly had some demons of his own he was wrestling with. Maybe he would open up more with time.

Looking at Crowley, he had that still, stony expression on again, as though he was protecting himself from whatever Aziraphale might say next. For a moment Aziraphale wished he were capable of such extreme stoicism. It would certainly be easier than his eyes welling with tears whenever he was upset. 

“Alright,” Aziraphale said. “I forgive you.”

“What?” Crowley frowned. “You can't do that. You don't know what I've done!”

“That's true, however, seeing as you've been good enough to look past the misfortunes of _my_ upbringing, it only seems fair that offer the same good will to you.” And with that Aziraphale stepped across the room, passed Crowley, and firmly took a seat on the sofa where he topped off his mug of wine. 

At first Crowley just stared at him in disbelief. But when Aziraphale offered the bottle of wine to him, Crowley just chuckled and accepted it. He sat down next to Aziraphale and, after a moment's hesitation, put his arm over the back of the sofa and behind Aziraphale's head. Aziraphale smiled and, just as nervously, leaned back so that his neck touched Crowley's arm. 

“You know,” Crowley said, decidedly not looking in Aziraphale's direction, “I think we may be a fairly messed up pair of blokes.”

Aziraphale laughed. “I'll say! I don't know about you, but running from my past has left me rather haggard and pathetic.”

“Why pathetic?” Crowley asked with a frown. “It sounds like you were plenty strong to get away from that lot.”

“Eeeh.” Aziraphale moved his head from side to side. He wasn't quite sure he agreed with Crowley on that point. It hadn't felt like being strong. It had felt, still felt, like running and hiding. His mind flashed back to the card he had gotten from the Hosts. It had been months now and they still hadn't tried to contact him. That didn't reassure him. It just made him feel certain they were plotting something more elaborate, some way to punish him for abandoning them. 

Still, he didn't want to think of that tonight. He just wanted to keep pursuing the handsome bad boy that the church would definitely never have approved of...No, wait. Aziraphale quashed that thought too. He didn't want to be dating Crowley just because he was, well, sexy and appealing in a forbidden sort of way. He wanted to be there in Crowley's flat because he genuinely liked Crowley as a person. 

He didn't know how to get to know Crowley better at this point though. Crowley was so protective of his secrets. It had taken them several dates for him to even reveal he was a nanny! Which, come to think of it, gave Aziraphale an idea.

“Do you like your work, Crowley?” 

“Which work?” Crowley asked after another sip of wine. “The one where I basically whore myself out for money or the cabaret?”

“That's an awfully unkind thing to say about the family you work for!”

“Nah. It's just unfair to sex workers. The thing is, the Dowlings are complete prats. They have no idea how most people live and they tell me everything about how they want me to dress, act, eat, you name it. It's hell. And don't even get me started on how they treat Warlock! When they pay attention to him at all, he's got to be a perfect little manly man, even when it makes him cry to try and make them happy!”

Aziraphale couldn't deny that what Crowley was saying lined up with what he had observed about Warlock's upbringing so far. It made Aziraphale's heart feel heavy to think of Crowley being so unhappy. He leaned into Crowley, moving just a little bit closer than he'd been before.

“You must enjoy some parts of your work though. You get to live in a posh flat. And you certainly seem fond of Warlock.”

Crowley scowled. “Oh, don't get me started on this flat! It came pre-furnished, so I never got a say in how anything looked. I'm not even allowed to put up my own art on the walls! The Dowlings like it to stay in 'showing condition'. Probably just in case they need to kick me out at a moment's notice. Never mind that I've been working for them for three years! They don't even...That is...” He trailed off as Aziraphale snuggled ever closer to him.

The thing was, Aziraphale had a plan: positive reinforcement. He was going to encourage Crowley to open up by getting a bit closer to him every time he was candid about anything, though that was a bit tricky when he was complaining. If it worked, Aziraphale would soon be cuddled up with someone he knew more about. If not, they'd just be chums sitting on opposite sides of the sofa. So far things seemed to be going well.

“And Warlock?” Aziraphale asked pointedly. “You love him, don't you?”

“...He's alright, I suppose.”

Aziraphale immediately leaned forward to drink his wine and came back down a little further away from Crowley than he'd been before. He couldn't be certain, but he had the impression that Crowley pouted a bit.

“Then what about the cabaret?” Aziraphale went on. “Is that your oasis from the demands of nannying?”

This time Crowley looked thoughtful and considered his words before he spoke. “I suppose you could say that. It's...different. I like the way everyone is there because they _want_ to be, because they're enthusiastic about putting on a show and having a few laughs. It's about more than just getting their kits off, you know. It's about _entertaining_. That's why we were interested in hosting your magic act. How's that coming along, by the way? Think you'll be able to audition again next month?”

Immediately Aziraphale felt his heart droop. “Ah...Well, unfortunately Harry and I haven't been able to practice much. Everything gets so busy around the holiday season and...”

“And you've been seeing me in all your spare time,” Crowley finished for him. He looked at Aziraphale, one eyebrow quirked. “Is that a problem? Am I taking up too much of your time?”

“I...No. I wouldn't say that, exactly.” Aziraphale waffled, then sighed and went on. “I've really been enjoying our time together. Er, I wouldn't mind having more of it, in fact. The problem is my work. It's exhausting, especially this time of the year when everyone is shopping at once and everything takes three times the effort. 

“I enjoy helping people find books they'll like, but at the same time the hours spent on my feet hurt so much and I'm trapped in that store all day most days and I earn so little...I hate to complain, it's simply that, well, this isn't the life I ever wanted for myself.”

Suddenly Aziraphale felt quite ashamed. He really did have no place to complain. He was getting by, which was more than many could say, and he was even working with a product he loved. Why wasn't it enough for him?

Crowley slithered over closer to him, his arm still behind Aziraphale's head. “I don't think there's any shame in not being content in retail. What would you rather be doing?”

“I...I don't know.”

“Come on, I'm not going to grade you on your dreams. If you could be doing anything what would you do? Travel the world? Go to space? Be a movie star?”

Aziraphale squirmed. This wasn't a comfortable topic for him. He'd never been the sort of child to have great dreams. He'd always assumed the Hosts of the Higher Power would take care of him. Even when he had gone to university it had been with the hopes of serving them better. Now, years later, he still felt the pain of their absence in his heart. The truth was, he still didn't know who he was without the church. He didn't know what he wanted to do or what would make his life better. 

Because, painfully, the only fantasy he had was being able to go back.

“I suppose I'd like to travel,” Aziraphale said quietly. “I've never left the country. I'd like to see....Japan.”

“Why Japan?” Crowley asked. He refilled his wine and settled back in closer than he'd been before. Their chests were almost touching now. Aziraphale's brow furrowed. When had he lost control of this conversation?

“I don't know. It seems far and different. I'd like to try some genuinely fresh sushi. Learn a bit of another language.” Aziraphale was staring at Crowley now, trying hard to focus on his shielded eyes, rather than his lips. Oh, he wanted to look at Crowley's lips. “What would you like to do?”

Aziraphale's gaze drifted down. Just for an instant, just to see Crowley smile. That was all. Why was he so nervous about it meaning something more?

“I don't always know what I'd like either,” Crowley admitted. His lips smirked. Aziraphale couldn't stop staring. “But right now...I think I'd quite like Japan too.”

“You would?”

“Yeah. I think...I think I'd like company.”

And then Crowley leaned forward, slowly, almost nervously. Aziraphale could tell from the tilt of his head that Crowley was looking at Aziraphale's lips just as hard as Aziraphale was staring at his.

Aziraphale moved closer. He closed his eyes. He could feel the heat coming from Crowley's breath. 

“Hey, is it alright if I kiss you?” Crowley whispered. “I promise it'll be good this time.”

“I know,” Aziraphale replied before wrapping his arms around Crowley and pulling him in for the finest kiss Aziraphale had had in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for continuing to read my story! It's really keeping my spirits up in these dark days. I hope it helps you as well. Please, leave a comment so I know what you like and don't like! I'm happy to put in more smooches if people request them!


	13. Sssecrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale snog and have feeeeelings. That's it. That's the chapter.

**Chapter Thirteen**

They didn't stop after one kiss. Or two. Or...quite a few more than that. Or maybe it was all one long kiss broken by the need to breathe. Crowley felt electrified. He was overwhelmed by just how much he needed Aziraphale, needed to feel his lips against his own, needed to curl his fingers in Aziraphale's hair, and needed to consume every moan that came out of Aziraphale's mouth. 

This was...

Alright, as Crowley traced the line of Aziraphale's mouth with his tongue, he tried to keep perspective. So, he had had a rather long dry spell before this. He'd been seeing Aziraphale exclusively for a few months now (not that they'd talked about that, hmmm, might be something to discuss). And he hadn't seen anyone for at least a few months before then. Not since the Incident with Warlock and that one bloke. (Kyle. Was his name Kyle? Something with a K.) So the point was...the point was that it wasn't strange that Crowley was reacting so strongly to the beautiful man currently stroking his face.

Then Aziraphale took him by the shoulders and pushed him backward so that Crowley was leaning back against the arm of the sofa. Crowley would have taken that as a sign that the kissing was over for the moment, except that Aziraphale never let their mouths stop touching throughout the whole movement. And then he stood and placed a leg on either side of Crowley's, sitting on his lap and straddling him.

“Is this alright?” Aziraphale asked breathlessly, looking like he was barely restraining himself from showering Crowley in even more kisses. 

Crowley nodded immediately. “Everything is alright, you amazing angel. Just keep touching me.”

Aziraphale smiled. His eyes were dark with lust and Crowley wondered just how far this little snog session would take them. Aziraphale wriggled back and forth and Crowley was suddenly very aware of the hardness growing in both their trousers. They were practically rubbing up against each other.

“I'm enjoying touching you very much,” Aziraphale said with a mischievous glint in his eye. He reached his hand into Crowley's hair and gave an experimental tug, then he looked at Crowley for confirmation.

“Yeah,” Crowley said with wide eyes. “That's good too!” So Aziraphale pulled harder and Crowley let out a moan would have embarrassed him if he'd been in his right mind. As it was, he was lucky he didn't share walls with any neighbors. 

Aziraphale didn't let up. He pressed a few fierce kisses to Crowley's mouth, then moved on to his neck, pulling Crowley's hair at the same time. It was divine.

“You've done this before,” Crowley said, smirking.

Surprisingly, considering their position, Aziraphale still blushed. “Well, I haven't exactly been _celibate_ these last ten or so years, my dear boy.”

Crowley decided not to bother being jealous. Instead he put on a lecherous grin. “Well, it was nice of those other blokes to prepare you for me.”

“Those sound like some bold words—Aah!” Aziraphale yelped as Crowley suddenly flipped them both over, so Crowley was now on top. 

So, all in all, things were going quite well when the worst happened. Crowley's sunglasses slipped. 

It was just a bit. All the movement made them slide down Crowley's nose. He hurried to catch them before they could fall off entirely. Unfortunately, all his fumbling made it so that Aziraphale couldn't help but pay attention to the sunglasses. And the eyes behind them.

“Are your eyes sensitive to light?” Aziraphale asked. His tone was suddenly doting and concerned. Crowley had a sinking feeling that any horniness they'd built up would be going right out the window. After all, he'd never been good at maintaining lies alongside an erection. 

Still, what else was there to say? Crowley looked away. “Yeah. My eyes have always been sensitive. That's why I wear these all the time.” He tapped the arm of his sunglasses. “Obviously.”

“Oh. That makes sense I suppose.” Then why did Aziraphale sound so uncertain?

Crowley grunted in frustration and got up from lying on Aziraphale. The moment was gone. Crowley and his stupid, stylish shades had ruined it. He should have known this would happen. It always did. Maybe Aziraphale hadn't asked him to take off the sunglasses yet, but he would soon enough and that would be the beginning of the end. Just like it always was. Crowley stood and poured himself a fresh mug of wine. He started to pace toward the kitchen.

“Please don't go away. Did I say something wrong?” Aziraphale asked in a small voice. “I...I thought things were going well.”

“They were. I mean, they are!” Crowley quickly corrected himself. “I'm just...I'm self-conscious about my eyes.” At least that wasn't a complete lie.

Aziraphale looked surprised. “May I ask why? They looked beautiful when I saw them.”

What? When had Crowley been daft enough to...

His thoughts must have been visible on Crowley's face because Aziraphale went on. “That first day we met, at the bookstore. You lowered your sunglasses and winked at me.” He smiled warmly. “I've been thinking of that day quite fondly for a while now.” 

Ah. Of course. One of the many times Crowley had decided to concentrate and wink at a handsome fellow and now it had come back to bite him. 

“Do you perhaps have a scar or...Well, I shouldn't pry. My apologies.” And _why_ was Aziraphale being so damn _sweet_ about this?

It was just like right before Crowley had run away. Aziraphale, being an angel. Crowley, just wanting to push him away. 

“Will you come sit with me again, Crowley? We needn't talk about it if you don't want to.”

No. Not this time. If anyone was going to run, well, it wasn't going to be Crowley. He could feel something special growing between Aziraphale and him. If it was going to shatter, it might as well happen now. 

At least, that's what Crowley told himself. In truth all he wanted was to be back in Aziraphale's arms. So he went back to the sofa and sat down, first rigidly upright and then slowly tilting until he was pressed against Aziraphale's chest. It felt...soothing. Crowley didn't trust it. He remained stiff as a board, even as Aziraphale began to run his fingers through Crowley's hair. 

Damn him! The angel was even starting to hum!

It was all so comfortable. It felt so safe, so accepting. Crowley couldn't help relaxing, just a little bit. 

He didn't even notice the first tear that ran down his cheek. 

But then there was a second tear, and a third. All at once Crowley realized that he was _crying_ and his cheeks flamed with embarrassment. It would have been better if he had let out a giant fart as far as he was concerned. At least then Aziraphale could only accuse him of having gas and not _feelings_.

He tried to quickly hide what was happening. He wiped at his cheeks and blinked rapidly, but the tears just kept coming! Instead he focused on his breathing, making sure every breath was slow and regular. This was fine. He could make it through this. Just as long as Aziraphale didn't notice, everything would be alright.

“How are you doing, my dear boy? You're being very quiet.”

“'m fine,” Crowley calmly answered. At least he tried to. To his complete horror his breath hitched halfway through 'fine' and it didn't get better as he tried to stumble through any further explanation. “I'm just t-tired that's all. No need to worry. Definitely don't look at my face.”

Aziraphale was busy disobeying the order before Crowley had finished giving it. It took him a moment, but then a fresh tear slid traitorously down Crowley's cheek and Aziraphale gasped, his eyes wide with shock. 

“Oh, Crowley!” He spoke with concern and a damnable amount of pity. Crowley hated it. “What's wrong? Have I done something to hurt you?”

It took effort, so much effort, but Crowley was able to tear himself away from Aziraphale's soft, warm side. 

“Listen.” Crowley swallowed and leveled his voice. “Listen, could you just stop that for a bit?”

“Stop what?”

“Just...Stop being so bloody nice!” 

Aziraphale's brow crinkled in confusion. “You don't like it when I'm nice?”

“No! I mean, yes, but you have to stop!” Crowley ran his fist along his cheeks to dab the tears. “Normally it's fine. You just have to stop now. I don't know why. I don't understand it, but apparently I am having a moment here!”

“I...see? No, I'm afraid I don't. Would—Would a hug help at all?”

“Argh!” Crowley growled then grabbed one of the sofa cushions and smothered his face with it. Then his face hurt from where his sunglasses were stabbing in around his eyes. Those stupid sunglasses. They were the ones to blame for all this. They made him look exciting and mysterious when really he was just an idiot with family issues who couldn't even stand the idea of being hugged! 

He was right the first time. He was feeling far too much for Aziraphale. He needed to get him out the door and keep things that way. 

“Please stop that, Crowley. You need to breathe!” 

Crowley felt Aziraphale's gentle hands on his own as Aziraphale carefully but firmly pulled away the pillow. Crowley let him. Aziraphale was right; he did need to breathe. He took a deep breath, and then two. His resolve grew firm. At last the blasted tears stopped streaming from his eyes, at least for the moment. Aziraphale was watching him, full of uncertainty but still looking desperate to help. He was hugging the pillow he'd taken from Crowley, as though that could be a stand-in for holding the man himself. 

It struck Crowley just then that, aside from one wink, he had never seen Aziraphale properly. Normally he didn't mind seeing everything through his shades, but every so often it filled him with regret. That was why he occasionally took off his sunglasses to watch Warlock sleep. And sometimes just to look at the sky. He missed seeing beautiful things without a filter.

So, even though (or rather, because) it would scare Aziraphale away, Crowley took off his sunglasses. He kept his eyes closed for a moment. He would give him one last chance.

“You should probably go,” Crowley said, making his voice as cold and hard as he could.

He sensed rather than saw Aziraphale straighten his back and take just as firm a stance. “I'm not leaving until I know just what's going on here. I really think you owe me _some_ sort of explanation.”

Fine. So this was it. No going back. Crowley opened his eyes and stared Aziraphale right in the face.

“You should know sssomething about me,” Crowley hissed. “I'm a bit of a liar.”

Aziraphale stared. He recoiled. He gasped out in shock. He did everything Crowley had expected short of running out the door screaming.

“W-why do you have cat eyes?” Aziraphale asked, confused and alarmed. “Wait a moment, are those contact lenses?”

Crowley scowled and, to his later embarrassment, actually stomped his foot. “They're snake eyes! _Snake_ eyes! And no, they aren't bloody contacts! You can take a closer look if you need proof.”

And, to Crowley's surprise, Aziraphale took him up on that offer. He stepped closer and put a hand on Crowley's shoulder and pulled him down to Aziraphale's level.

Damn him, his touch still made Crowley's stomach flip-flop.

Aziraphale stared into Crowley's eyes, looking fearful and searching. “I-I don't understand. I've _seen_ your eyes before. I _know_ I have!”

The poor man had such a wobble in his voice that Crowley was sure it would be Aziraphale crying soon, over something seemingly unnatural. Something he couldn't understand. All at once Crowley realized how selfish he was being. This wasn't just about him. Aziraphale had been lied to so much in his life, into believing in miracles and a higher power. Crowley couldn't let him believe that he was seeing something impossible.

“I...was wearing contacts the day you saw my eyes. I do that sometimes. When I want to feel normal.”

“Oh. I see.” Aziraphale practically shuddered with relief. “And that explains why you wear the sunglasses all the time. I had wondered about that.” He continued to stare into Crowley's eyes, his own beautiful and normal blue eyes moving back and forth. Finally Crowley couldn't hold his gaze any longer and had to blink. That seemed to break the spell. Aziraphale abruptly backed away from him, mumbling an apology as he went.

“I'm so sorry. I'm being terribly rude...”

At the same time Crowley said, “I understand if you want to leave now...”

They both paused and watched each other. Aziraphale's brows furrowed and he looked distinctly sad. “Do you want me to leave still? I'm sorry I-I flinched when I saw your eyes. I simply wasn't expecting them. I know that's no excuse, but...Oh, bother.”

Crowley snorted. “You know, you sound like Winnie the Pooh when you say that.”

“Oh...you. Stop teasing me!” Aziraphale huffed. “You're leaving me quite confused! First we were kissing and everything seemed fine, then it wasn't, then you were crying and trying to make me leave, and now there's..._this_!” Aziraphale gestured broadly at Crowley, though it was ambiguous if he was talking about Crowley's eyes or his poorly timed sense of humor. 

Frankly, the way he was feeling right now, either would be a good enough reason to leave him. 

Well, that was the sort of talk Mary would chide him for. She never liked it when he got down on himself. But then, even Mary had never seen his eyes before. She knew he struggled with self-esteem sometimes, but she had never learned the full reasons why. 

What would Mary say right now? Or rather, what did Crowley not want her to get on his case about the next time they met?

“Alright,” he said with a bit of a sick taste in his mouth, “let's try _communicating_.” Crowley didn't believe it would help for a second, but at least he would be able to tell Mary it wasn't his fault when this all fell apart. He gestured to himself. “I'm a freak of nature with eyes that would frighten children and a childhood out of your nightmares.” Then he gestured at Aziraphale. “You're practically a saint who offers the kindest cuddles I've ever had.

“What I'm saying is...” Crowley stopped just short of saying 'I don't deserve you', another sentence that Mary would have frowned on, “we don't seem very compatible. We're practically a...a...an angel and a demon!”

There. That should get his point across clearly. Crowley was actually proud of himself. At least he was before Aziraphale started laughing.

“Oh, balderdash!” Aziraphale said after a hearty chuckle. “I'm sorry, my dear. You just seemed so dramatic. An angel and a demon, indeed.” He shook his head. “I'm no angel, Crowley. I'm selfish and needy and a frightful coward. A few cuddles don't change that. But by the same token, you're hardly the 'demon' you claim to be. You're kind. You're sensitive. I've never known anyone to care so deeply about me as to seek me out the way you do.”

Aziraphale stepped closer, until he was face to face with Crowley again. He swallowed, then put his hand on Crowley's cheek. It was so warm, so gentle. Crowley wished he didn't like it so much. It made him feel helpless. Especially when Aziraphale was staring at his eyes again. No, not at, _into_. For an instant Crowley was actually able to believe that Aziraphale wasn't staring at him in disgust or fear, but was just looking at him, as simply as if he were any other person Aziraphale cared about. Then Aziraphale closed his eyes and leaned forward, lips puckered ever so slightly.

“Wait,” Crowley said in disbelief. “You want to kiss me? But I'm...”

“You're gorgeous, my dear, and entirely too good for me,” Aziraphale said with a melancholy smile. “Still, that isn't stopping me from wanting you, from wanting to be _with_ you. If you're also silly enough to still want me, then who am I to contradict you?”

There were several voices clamoring to be heard in Crowley's head at that moment. One was screaming for him to run away. This was dangerous! He was a monster who would only hurt Aziraphale in the end! Another, a mix of his own voice and Mary's, was saying that everything would be fine and he was cool and sexy besides. 

But it was his heart that told him to stop thinking entirely. There was an angel waiting to kiss him.

So Crowley smiled, feeling lighter than he had in years, and pulled Aziraphale closer. Their lips met and somehow it was even better than before. Probably because those stupid sunglasses weren't getting in the way anymore, but there was likely something metaphorical going on there too. 

He felt free. Crowley knew he still had his secrets, but Aziraphale had taken one look (alright several looks) at his most damning feature and embraced it anyway. None of Crowley's other lovers had done that. He'd always either kept his sunglasses on the whole time or made sure they had sex in the dark. Now it was like a whole new realm of possibilities was opening up for him. One where someone might actually like him for who he was!

“You really don't mind my eyes?” Crowley asked when they broke apart. He needed to hear it, to hear the exact words.

“I really don't mind your eyes,” Aziraphale confirmed. He kissed each of Crowley's eyelids then smiled, only a touch nervously. Crowley could live with that. 

“After all,” Aziraphale added. “It would be awfully cruel of me to hold a birth defect against you.”

It wasn't...the best of terms for Crowley to hear, but he was determined not to let anything else ruin their night. Aziraphale said he didn't mind and that was the important thing! Still, Crowley was suddenly less enthusiastic about kissing. He turned their embrace into a hug when Aziraphale moved in again. Surprisingly, it didn't hurt at all.

“How would you like to get drunk and watch some Bake-Off on my laptop?” Crowley asked, his face buried in Aziraphale's neck. “I promise not to cry all over you again.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “I'm afraid I can't promise the same. So much love goes into those bakes. I can't stand that I'll never get to taste them!”

Well, that was an idea worth filing away for a later date. In the meantime, Crowley set up the computer while Aziraphale poured them each a fresh mug of wine. By the end of the first episode they were pleasantly tipsy and Crowley was lying on top of Aziraphale, their legs happily entangled. They cheered on the contestants and gasped whenever there was a poor bake. It was...fun. Nice and simple. 

Crowley wondered for the first time if he might made a friend in addition to a...whatever they were. That was a question that could wait for another day. Right now he was happy and that was enough. 

Eventually the spell had to be broken though. Aziraphale noticed it was getting late and had to call for a ride. Crowley put his sunglasses back on to walk Aziraphale out. They sneaked one last kiss out by the front gate (out of view of the security camera) and Crowley promised to arrange another date soon. 

“I'm looking forward to it,” Aziraphale said warmly. He quickly lifted up Crowley's sunglasses and kissed one of his eyelids again. He didn't have to, but he showed Crowley one last time, out in open air, that he accepted Crowley just the way he was. It made Crowley happy.

Happy...and just a bit sick to his stomach.

When Crowley went back to his flat he went to the loo and stared at himself in the mirror. There he was, the mysterious sexy man with freaky snake eyes. Then he closed his eyes, concentrated, and opened them again. There they were. The golden honey-colored eyes Aziraphale would have seen when they first met. Crowley hated them. They gave him a headache. And they were a lie. Normally Crowley was all about lying, but not when it came to his own bloody eyes.

Maybe things would be different now. Maybe things could be different with Aziraphale. He had accepted that Crowley had unusual eyes. That was good. Mary would approve. He never needed to know the rest.

He didn't need to know that he was dating a literal demon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, having so much free time is great for my writing schedule! A new chapter in less than a week! I hope you all enjoyed it. Next chapter should be more plot-heavy. 
> 
> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed the chapter! Or not! I just like feedback!


	14. Panic! At the Cabaret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale arrange another date. This one doesn't go so well.
> 
> WARNING: This chapter contains a panic attack.

**Chapter Fourteen**

Anathema was waiting for Aziraphale when he came back to the flat that night. She had a pendulum that she was waving over a map of London. Just a typical evening living with a self-professed witch. Aziraphale would have said something about the activity, but he and Anathema had long since come to an agreement: he wouldn't comment on her 'occult' activities and she wouldn't bother him about the dozens of dirty cups he left around the flat. Sadly, cleanliness was not one of Aziraphale's virtues.

“You had a good time,” Anathema said. It wasn't a question. She was looking at him in that way she did when she claimed to be reading his aura. “Does this mean your fellow opened up a bit?”

Aziraphale considered. “I suppose you could say that.”

Snake eyes. That was quite the revelation, Aziraphale thought. It explained a lot. Crowley's mysterious and distant demeanor, the sunglasses, and to an extent even his reluctance to talk about his past. Crowley had said he was raised by Satanists. Who knew what those sorts of lunatics would have done to the poor boy growing up? They'd probably convinced him that he was some sort of monster, or that he was possessed. Aziraphale was horrified just thinking of the abuse Crowley might have undergone. 

Aziraphale walked over to the kitchen and sighed loudly. He needed some tea, but he was painfully aware there were no clean cups to be had. Anathema put down her pendulum and handed him a sponge with a mischievous look in her eyes. Aziraphale took the hint and began to wash his favorite mug, the one with wings for a handle. 

“So, what's on your mind?” Anathema asked as she went back to the dining table and began to fold up her map. “That didn't sound like a happy sigh.”

“I am happy. I think. Crowley and I had a lovely evening together,” Aziraphale tried not to sound defensive about it. Not that it mattered. Anathema was very good at figuring out how people felt. Aziraphale called it good intuition. Anathema liked to hint that was something else. 

Now she simply raised an eyebrow. That was enough.

“It's just...” Aziraphale went on. “How do two people even know if they're good for each other?”

For the first time, Aziraphale was feeling like he truly understood why Crowley had run away when Aziraphale had confessed to growing up in a cult. Not only did they have potentially similar baggage, but the idea of dealing with Crowley's pain on top of his own left Aziraphale feeling overwhelmed.

Maybe they weren't good for each other after all. Maybe their dark pasts would become more painful when added together.

“Ah,” said Anathema. “I wondered if something like this might come up for you. You know more about Crowley now and you're wondering if it's more than you can handle.”

“You could at least phrase it like a question!” Aziraphale snapped. He took a breath to calm himself. “Sorry. I'm simply not in the mood for psychological games tonight.”

In truth he was being haunted by what he'd felt when he'd first seen Crowley's eyes. First there had been surprise at the initial sight of them. Then there was fear because they were strange and different. But then there came a deeper fear when Aziraphale had realized he was seeing something that didn't make sense, that seemed unnatural.

The Hosts of the Higher Power had spent years convincing Aziraphale and their other followers that they had divine powers. Ever since his disillusionment, Aziraphale had aggressively researched common claims of supernatural abilities and all the ways all of them had been debunked. That didn't stop him from feeling sick every time he saw a news story about a supposed psychic or had to sell someone a book on 'magik' from the New Age section. 

“It's alright,” Anathema said. She even smiled kindly as she said it. “So, you're worried that you and Crowley aren't compatible?”

Living with Anathema had been a challenge at first, until he told her a bit about his past and she agreed to stop telling him about auras. He caught her looking at him strangely sometimes though. As though he were a puzzle she couldn't quite solve. Still, she respected his boundaries and that was more than enough to endear her to him. 

“It's not that, exactly,” Aziraphale explained. “Actually, I'm worried that we're _too_ compatible in some ways. What with our mutually awful, religion-oriented pasts. What if our traumas just feed off of each other?” 

“Ah yes,” Anathema acknowledged with a nod. “That's why support groups are so dangerous. Nothing worse than having someone who understands you.” She walked to his side and put a hand on his shoulder. “It doesn't take a lot of, uh, intuition to tell you have something deeper on your mind. Would you like to talk about it?” 

Aziraphale was quiet for a time, pondering worriedly. It had been a relief when Crowley had explained that he just had an eye condition. And of course it made sense that he would wear contacts sometimes to look normal. It all made so much sense in hindsight that Aziraphale almost felt foolish for panicking. Almost.

Because the truth was, Crowley's eyes did still alarm him. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. But Aziraphale couldn't help feeling a shudder course through him when he thought of the way they looked. He'd kissed them and said he didn't mind, but he'd also been thinking of all the pictures of the Forbidden One he'd been raised with. All the terrifying sculptures that had haunted his nightmares as a boy.

In some ways it really felt like he was infatuated with a creature of hell...just one who happened to like Bake-Off. 

“Anathema, do you...that is...Well, sometimes I fear I'm not a very good person.” Aziraphale swallowed as the confession wheedled its way out of him. “Crowley told me something today, something that wasn't actually a bad thing, and I judged him for it.”

Anathema frowned. “What did you say to him?”

“Nothing wrong! I said that I supported him and didn't mind what he'd told me...but I did mind. It bothered me very much. Or rather, it bothered me how much it bothered me.” Aziraphale hung his head. “I thought I was raised to be better than that, to love all of God's creations equally.”

Though he said the words solemnly, Anathema couldn't quite keep a straight face. She pressed her lips together then slowly erupted into a fit of full-body laughter. Aziraphale frowned at her, but trusted her enough to hear just what she thought was so funny.

“I'm sorry, Aziraphale,” she said once she caught her breath. “I'm not trying to make fun of you. I'm just imagining your family's 'church' ever raising you to be non-judgmental. Didn't they always tell you that only members of the Keepers of Divine Magic could get into heaven?”

“Hosts of the Higher Power,” Aziraphale corrected quietly.

“Right, well the point is they were a bunch of judgmental fuck-wits who thought they were better than everyone else on the planet. At best they looked at the world with pity for not being good enough. Am I wrong?”

A familiar battle raged in Aziraphale, where he felt both the truth of Anathema's words and the need to defend the family he loved despite it all. “I...It's not that simple, exactly. What the Church was _supposed_ to be, what it often was under Raphael, was a place for love for all. Yes, many people were likely to be damned, but also anyone had the potential to be saved. That was something we celebrated! The hope for the whole world!”

“As long as it was a world where everyone did what the Church wanted, right?” Anathema asked with a raised eyebrow.

Aziraphale looked down and blushed in shame. “So are you saying I am at fault? That I'm doomed to be judgmental?”

Anathema sighed and rubbed her hand on Aziraphale's shoulder. “It's not like that. I think we're all more than our upbringings. You've spent ten years trying to unlearn the toxic ideas you grew up with. That's not easy. It's still going to sneak up on you when you least expect it. It's not something to be ashamed of, as long as you still fight back against it.” She gave him a hug. “Now, has this thing you learned about Crowley made you see him as any less than you did before? Does he still seem like a man that can make you happy?”

He thought about how he had felt watching Bake-Off with Crowley. Aziraphale had been wrestling with his feelings then, but still been so eager to kiss him. And he'd looked into Crowley's eyes every time. Aziraphale had seen so much hope there and so much fear. Crowley was a man just like him. He'd been dealt an unfair lot in life and now was just trying to get by in a job that he hated. That was the common thread between them. Heavens, it was practically the song of their generation.

Aziraphale had spent a long time convinced he didn't deserve love, but in seeing Crowley, in seeing the way they mirrored each other, he suddenly wasn't so sure. Because Crowley deserved to be loved. Aziraphale had no doubts about that. So did he deserve it too?

Did they, perhaps, deserve each other?

“I think so,” he said at last. He frowned then nodded definitively. “Yes. He makes me happy. You're right. I've spent this long fighting against my past. I won't let it hinder my dating life either!”

Anathema smiled. “That's wonderful! So, are the two of you going to be boyfriends now? Are you going to take a chance at another real relationship?”

“That...” Aziraphale paused. “Those are some very good questions.”

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A week later Crowley called to invite Aziraphale to a New Year's party at the cabaret. 

“Wear your magician's suit,” Crowley instructed. “Everyone will be dressed up in some way or another. Plus it will remind them who you are. You know, besides my arm candy.”

Crowley's teasing tone made Aziraphale blush, though not unpleasantly. “In that case, should I bring Harry too? I'm certain he made more of an impression that I did.”

“Best not. We'll be there past midnight. That has to be past Harry's bedtime.”

That _was_ awfully late, Aziraphale considered. But perhaps it was just the time to try being a little bold. He pet Harry's fur while he listened to Crowley on the phone, chattering happily about the party, acting like nothing was different between them now.

But Aziraphale _wanted_ different. He wanted _more_.

“Will you stay at my place? After the party?” he asked all at once, before he could lose his nerve.

The line went silent.

“Hello? Crowley? Are you still there?”

“Er, yes. Sorry,” Crowley's voice sounded unusually high-pitched. “So, just to be clear here, are we talking about a fun little sleepover or...”

Aziraphale blushed brightly. He knew what Crowley was asking. Obviously. He just didn't quite know how to answer him. “I, well, can we wait and see? I don't want to get your hopes up, but we have been seeing each other for a few months now and...At the least I would very much like to wake up with you in my arms.” 

The line went silent for several moments more before Crowley finally spluttered out his reply. 

“...I'll pack an overnight bag.”

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_New Year's Eve_

“Aw, bollocks!” Crowley swore as he noticed his already chipped nail polish. He'd only applied the stuff a few hours ago. That was what he got for going with the cheap brand. He'd just been getting so many last-minute supplies! Aziraphale's invitation to spend the night at his had not only given Crowley a lot of hope for how their evening might go, but it had also given him an unexpected opportunity. 

Tonight, Crowley had many plans. He wanted to dance with Aziraphale. He wanted to kiss him at midnight (and a few other times besides). And he wanted to introduce Aziraphale to someone very special to him. 

None of this was being helped by the fact that Crowley was running late. The Dowlings had of course tried to get Crowley to watch Warlock as they went to a New Year's party of their own. Luckily even they had to admit it wasn't fair to make Crowley work Christmas _and_ New Year's Eve. In the end they got a regular babysitter to take over, but Mr. Dowling was clearly resentful. He hinted 'jokingly' that Crowley could be out a job if couldn't handle the hours. The threat scared Crowley more than he liked to admit. He didn't want to go back to barely scraping by in his old life as a barista. Those were lonely and dark days for him.

But that was a worry for another time. Right now Crowley was determined to impress. Aziraphale had never seen him in formal-wear before. Crowley intended to make his sweetheart's jaw hit the floor when he saw...not Crowley exactly, but the great Lady Ashtoreth. 

She wasn't a drag persona. Crowley had had to explain that more than once. Ashtoreth was just a name for another part of who he was. Her clothes were just other outfits he owned. (That he wasn't generally allowed to wear.) In fact, his preferred Ashtoreth outfits were simple black and red ensembles that any lady might wear going about her high-powered executive life. (Alright so maybe there was a bit of wish fulfillment there, but it had nothing to do with Crowley's bits. Who wouldn't want to look like a terrifying CEO?) Tonight though, he wore a floor-length slinky black dress that sparkled in the lights. It was a dress made to be performed in.

“How are you doing in here, love?” Madame Tracy asked, coming into the back room. “I think I just saw your magician fellow come in. He's even performing tricks!”

“Oh, dear,” Crowley muttered and hurried to get his wig on. In another life, perhaps he'd grow his hair out and curl it to get this look naturally, but the wig did the job for the time being. He looked in the mirror and tried to inspect his make-up through his sunglasses. The eye-shadow hadn't been easy, but he thought it looked alright. Hopefully.

“Tell me, Tracy. Do I look awe-inspiring or just terrifying? That is, in a good way?” He did his best to hide the nerves he felt.

He didn't fool Tracy for a moment. She came over with a sympathetic smile and hugged Crowley gently, careful not wrinkle his dress. “You look wonderful, you poor dear. You really want to impress him, don't you?”

Crowley scowled and pushed her away. “It's nothing to make a fuss over! I'm just dressing up and doing a song for him, I mean, for the party!”

Tracy giggled but had the courtesy at least to hide her smile behind her hand. “My, Lady Ashtoreth, I don't think I've ever seen you this smitten before! Does your magician have quite a...way with his hands?”

That made Crowley roll his head along with his eyes. Why was everyone suddenly so concerned about his love-life? Mary had been almost worried when they'd last met.

_“And then we kissed some more and watched hours of Bake-Off! It was the best night I've had in years!”_

_“I...see,” Mary said, tapping her pencil repeatedly against her notepad. She hadn't written anything in half an hour. “It sounds like you're growing quite close to, um, Aziraphale, was it?” She took a drink of water and then coughed a bit. “Listen, Crowley, I know you're excited about this relationship, but I'm not sure it's healthy.”_

_“What?” Crowley stared at her, incredulous. “You're the one who's been pushing me to make more friends and come out of my shell for the last three years! I thought you'd be thrilled for me!”_

_“Well, yes, I-I am,” Mary stammered. She never stammered usually. Just what was making her so nervous? Was he radiating terror or something? Crowley sniffed at his armpit just to check._

_“What I'm concerned about,” she went on, “is that you're putting your eggs all in one basket, so to speak. You've had a lot of trouble opening up to people in the past and it seems like you want to tell this man everything about you suddenly.”_

_Not everything, Crowley thought darkly, not by a long shot. “Are you worried I'm going to get my heart broken? Is that it?”_

_“That is...a potential outcome,” Mary admitted, which was also strange. Normally Crowley was the one bringing up all the bad things that could happen and Mary was the one trying to be optimistic. “Listen, I'm just saying you don't know much about Aziraphale. He could let you down and I don't want you to go back in your cage if he does. I think it would be a good idea for you to, well, branch out a bit.”_

_Crowley leaned back and raised an eyebrow. “How so?”_

_This seemed to be what Mary was waiting for. She smiled and pulled out a small pile of pamphlets. “You could take up a hobby! Join a club. You know, for your weekends.”_

_He rolled his eyes. “Right, because my weekends are so free. Between work, the cabaret, and Aziraphale, I'm lucky if I can find the time to take a bath these days.” Still, he took the pamphlets to humor her._

_It was not an impressive collection. They advertised a fishing group, nature hikes, and... a ten pin bowling league? He couldn't look cool doing any of that! Crowley scowled and immediately dumped the lot of them in the bin. Mary just sighed, as though she had expected as much. _

_“Will you at least think about it?” she asked, desperately. “It's good for you to have more than one person you can open up to. I really think friends would be good for you.”_

_And she said it with such pleading eyes that Crowley had agreed to try and keep an open mind. He felt very easily manipulated about it though._

Crowley shook his head and pushed the memories from his mind. New hobbies or not, tonight was about Aziraphale. He finished putting the hair of his wig in a becoming up-do and turned back to Madame Tracy, who was still smiling at him conspiratorially. 

“Alright, so,” Crowley announced, “here's the plan...” 

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Aziraphale hadn't wanted to worry Crowley, but the truth was he had never been to a real party before, certainly not one like this. For one thing, alcohol was being served, something that was both a cause for concern and relief. It had taken Aziraphale years to learn how to handle drinking responsibly (that is, drinking to the extent that he actually got drunk). He was nervous as to how he would act being tipsy around a large group of people.

He needn't have worried. The crowd was largely friendly. It was all the performers of the cabaret as well as the club's staff and everyone's partners. He'd followed Crowley's advice and worn his magician suit. So everyone welcomed him in as 'the magician bloke' and more than one person drunkenly asked him to do a magic trick.

“Is _this_ your card?” Aziraphale asked, after doing some very basic sleight-of-hand.

His audience gasped in delight and Aziraphale considered that it would be very good for his ego if he always performed for the inebriated. Once he was done thanking the small crowd, he went back to what he'd been doing before, looking for Crowley.

Everyone at the party was dressed up in some fashion. Some wore costumes, others had fine evening-wear. Crowley had promised he would dress to the nines himself, and Aziraphale was quite excited to see what Crowley would look like in a suit. Unfortunately, Crowley was so far nowhere to be seen. The cabaret's club wasn't that big. Aziraphale wondered if he was running late. Maybe it would be best to send him a message?

He was suddenly distracted by someone pulling at his sleeve. Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief assuming it must be Crowley, but turned to find an older woman wearing a brightly colored dress and a thick layer of make-up smiling at him. 

“Hello, love. That was quite the trick you did. You've gotten much better since your audition.” She squeezed his arm in a way that was likely supposed to be reassuring, but seemed a bit overly familiar to him. 

Aziraphale smiled back uncertainly. Just who was this woman? “Well, I have been working on my tricks when I have the time, but really I think I just have a very generous audience tonight.” He held out his hand to the woman. “I'm very sorry, have we met before? My name is Aziraphale.”

The woman took his hand but didn't shake it. Instead she turned it so it was palm up and she began to examine the lines of his hand. It took a moment for Aziraphale to realize what was happening. Once he did, he felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. She was engaging in palmistry! 

“Hmm, it looks like you've got an unusually long life line. But what's this? It's cut suddenly short! Oh, my!” She spoke in a whispery, vaguely-mystical sounding voice that told Aziraphale that she was well-practiced at this sort of thing.

He pulled his hand back abruptly. “Thank you for your opinion, ma'am,” he said through a tight smile. “I think I'll take my own chances with the future though.”

The woman laughed. “My apologies dearie, I just like to have a bit of fun. It's part of my act, you know.” She adjusted the shawl on her shoulders and did a curtsy. “I am the renowned Madame Tracy, Mistress of the Mystic Arts! Now, are you sure you don't want to know a bit more about your future? Your love line looked absolutely salacious!”

For a moment he had to admit he was tempted. His cheeks went pink at the thought of what he might be up to that night if things went well with Crowley. He didn't believe for a moment that Madame Tracy could read the future any more than anyone else could. Still, it would have been nice to get some encouragement from someone before he saw Crowley and lost himself again to the gooey pile of emotions that came about whenever he was near. 

Instead he said, “I'm sure my love line is as interesting as the rest of the bends in my skin. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm currently looking for someone.”

But as Aziraphale was about to wander off Tracy removed her shawl and whipped around him. “Oh no, you don't!” she said mischievously. She began to pull him toward the stage at the far side of the room, ignoring Aziraphale's protests. The crowd parted and tittered as they passed. “I specific instructions for you!”

All at once Aziraphale went cold. He didn't know this woman. What if she didn't really work at the cabaret? What if this was a trap Gabriel had set for him? Where were the others? Was that Sandalphon in the corner? Aziraphale began to breathe very fast and hard as his head whipped around from side to side. Finally his eyes settled back on Tracy, who was starting to look alarmed. 

“What do you want from me?!” Aziraphale yelled, losing any semblance of calm. He yanked back on the shawl and pulled it out of Tracy's grasp, making himself fall to the floor with a thud.

Everyone was staring now. Aziraphale couldn't breathe. He covered his head with his arms and waited for the worst to happen.

“What's going on?” yelled a voice sharply. It sounded familiar, but Aziraphale wouldn't have been able to place even his own voice at that moment. “Aziraphale? Are you alright? It's me. It's Crowley! Everyone back up! Give him some space!”

Crowley? Yes, Crowley was good. It was good that he was here. Or was it? Was he safe here? It was just so hard to think with his heart pounding like this. Something was touching his back. He flinched away, but then he heard Crowley speaking softly to him. 

“Shh. It's alright. I'm just patting your back. You're safe. I promise.”

It took a few minutes, but slowly Aziraphale started to breathe normally again. He lifted his head from his arm and noticed his vision was blurry. Tears. How long had he been crying? He became more aware of the comforting sensation of the hand rubbing his back, of the warm body near him. He leaned into the warmth.

“Do you think you feel up to standing?” Crowley asked. “We can head to the back room and I'll get you some water.”

“Gabriel isn't here, is he?” Aziraphale's mind was clearing. He already had a sense that he'd just made a scene for no good reason, but he was still trembling. He needed to hear that nothing was wrong, that he wasn't being taken back.

“What? No. No, Gabriel isn't here, angel. He'd probably burn up in a den of sin like this, right?”

It was a weak attempt at humor, but Aziraphale still laughed. The sound was strange to him. It didn't feel right after all the panicking he'd just done. He looked around. Oh dear. The whole crowd was staring at him and whispering among themselves. Madame Tracy was nearby, look absolutely stricken. The poor thing. She'd just been teasing him, hadn't she? And he'd practically attacked her for it. Behind her was another woman, Carmine, the owner of the cabaret. She was smiling. Like she was barely holding back her glee at his outburst. He didn't know which woman's expression made him feel worse.

“I-I'm sorry,” Aziraphale started to stutter as Crowley helped pull him to his feet. “I just...I didn't mean...I'm so sorry.”

“There's nothing to apologize for,” Crowley reassured him. “Trust me. This isn't the first panic attack we've had here. Won't be the last. You wouldn't believe the emotional outburst we get around here.” He guided Aziraphale to a dressing room behind the stage and sat him down on a metal folding chair. “Just hold on a moment. I'm going to get you that water, okay?”

Aziraphale nodded and tried to focus on taking calming breaths. He was safe. Everything was okay. He'd just made an arse of himself in front of a large group of strangers, but at least that was the worst of it.

Then the door opened again and Crowley stepped in, holding the promised glass of water. Except it wasn't Crowley as Aziraphale had ever seen him before. Aziraphale had been expecting to see him in a suit that night. Instead he was in a black floor-length evening gown, covered in sequins and lace. His hair, it had to be a wig, was so long. It was pinned half-up in an elegant, even old-fashioned style. He was a vision of loveliness. 

“Crowley! You look beautiful!” Aziraphale exclaimed. He stood and moved quickly to him, taking Crowley's hands as he went. “I'm so sorry I didn't notice before. Why didn't you tell me you were going to...to be the Prince to my humble Dressmaker?”

Crowley laughed and the sequins shimmered on his dress. “I hadn't thought of it like that. I've been appearing as Lady Ashtoreth since long before you had me read that book. I just...I wanted to surprise you tonight, that's all. I was going to come out and sing a bit once Tracy led you to the stage. I guess my plan wasn't the best in hindsight. Sorry.”

He looked down and away from Aziraphale. Meanwhile Aziraphale couldn't help but blush. He still felt embarrassed at the fuss he had caused, but now he also felt in awe of what Crowley had been planning to do. He'd wanted to sing to Aziraphale. He'd been planning to come out like a fabulous lounge singer to serenade him. 

“Please, don't apologize,” Aziraphale said and squeezed Crowley's hands. “That's the most wonderful thing anyone has ever tried to do for me. You're absolutely incredible.”

Crowley stared at him with parted lips and Aziraphale couldn't resist leaning forward and kissing him, the most beautiful person he had ever kissed. When they parted they leaned their foreheads against each other and smiled.

“You're going to ruin my make-up, you know,” Crowley said teasingly.

“I'd love to ruin that dress too...” Aziraphale traced a finger down Crowley's chest and stomach, stopping just short of going indecently low. “Will you still come over tonight? Anathema is out for the evening. We'll have the whole place to ourselves.”

“Hmmm, tempting.” Crowley kissed him again. “Do you want to skip the party? I'm sure everyone will understand if you don't want to stay.”

“Can we still kiss at midnight?”

“And many more times besides.”

That was all Aziraphale needed to hear. They said their good-byes, Crowley changed back into his street clothes, and they left hand in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was supposed to be more to this chapter, but it was getting too long. Next chapter should be up next week with some feelings and smut, then it's all ominous plot stuff! 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Be sure to leave a comment with your thoughts!


	15. Starting Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale go to Aziraphale's place for New Year's Eve. Sexy times and some important conversations ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had intended for this chapter to be almost entirely smut, but plot stuff and fluff kept coming up! So, yes, this chapter is significant to the story while also including smut. If you don't want to read the sex parts it's towards the end of the chapter. If you don't want to take any chances, I've included the major plot points for this chapter in the end notes. I hope that works for you, but let me know if you'd prefer something different!

**Chapter Fifteen**

There was one thing Aziraphale didn't notice before they left the club. When Crowley shooed him out of the dressing room so he could change, Crowley heard the sound of something sliding across the floor. It was a piece of paper that someone had slipped under the door. He picked it up. It was an advert for a local yoga studio called A Further Reach. They promised to center your body _and_ your mind. It wasn't the sort of thing that Crowley usually cared about, but someone had written on it in bold letters, “They can help. Give them a chance.”

Yoga. Why was it that every well-meaning idiot in the world recommended yoga when it came to any sort of health problem, mental or otherwise? Now someone at the party probably wanted Crowley to show this thing to Aziraphale so he could be healed of all unsightly panic attacks. Oh, joy. 

He was about to throw the advert in the bin when another thought occurred to him. What if _he_ went to the yoga studio? He was a bendy sort of fellow and he did love showing off when he got the chance. What if he went to a few lessons and just made sure the place was on the level before inviting Aziraphale? That couldn't be so bad, could it? And, after all, what if there really was something to this yoga business? It was worth a try anyway. 

Crowley put the paper in his pocket to consider later and left the dressing room to collect Aziraphale before he could apologize himself to death. 

The drive to Aziraphale's was quiet. Well, aside from Crowley swearing at other drivers and anyone else who dared get in his way. True to his promise, Crowley had stopped holding back around Aziraphale and they were driving far faster than was safe or, technically speaking, legal. Aziraphale looked a bit sick, but he didn't say anything and Crowley pretended not to notice. It was fun teasing him like that.

Although Crowley was always an 'enthusiastic' driver, he had to admit, if only to himself, that there was another reason he was driving so creatively. He was nervous. This was going to be his first night staying over with Aziraphale and, well, he had wanted everything to go perfectly.

Unfortunately, Crowley's perfect plan had involved serenading Aziraphale while in a sexy lounge dress, kissing him in a dramatic dip at midnight in front of a crowd of onlookers (who would clap, naturally), and then whisking Aziraphale back to his flat to continue things how they saw fit. Instead Crowley's plan had failed spectacularly and they had, by necessity, skipped straight to the whisking phase. Without Aziraphale being wooed or dazzled first. Crowley feared it was a bad sign of things to come. 

When they arrived at his address Aziraphale let out a long breath Crowley hadn't been aware he'd been holding. Crowley looked at him hopefully. “Oh? Are you feeling nervous too?”

“Haven't had a chance to,” Aziraphale said, clutching at his heart and taking a few deep breaths. “I've been too busy fearing for my life. You really are a madman behind the wheel.” He paused, then looked at Crowley with surprise. “Wait, you're nervous?”

“Nope,” Crowley replied immediately. He pushed up his sunglasses, even though they hadn't fallen at all.

Then, to Crowley's shock, Aziraphale reached over and took off the sunglasses altogether. Instinctively Crowley went completely still, as if waiting for an attack. Instead Aziraphale leaned over and gently kissed him on the cheek.

“You don't have to hide how you're feeling with me, Crowley. It's alright if you're nervous. Honestly, I'm flattered that you care so much about wanting to make this night a good one for me. I'm sorry I didn't get to hear you sing.”

Crowley sighed. Maybe it was best to just get this out there now. “Aziraphale, before we go up there, there's something I want to...tell you? Ask you? There's something I want to say.”

Aziraphale smiled hesitantly. “Oh. Alright. Let me get comfortable.” He wiggled in his seat then gestured at Crowley. “Go ahead.”

“Well...” Oh, bless it. This was actually happening. “We've been seeing each other for a while now...”

“True. About two and half months now.” Aziraphale shrugged self-consciously. “If one were counting, that is.”

“Right.” Crowley nodded. “So, I don't really know about you, I suppose, but I haven't seen anyone else in that time.” He darted his eyes over to Aziraphale, but the fellow just looked confused, as if he didn't see what Crowley was getting at. Crowley plunged forward like he was diving into a vat of holy water. 

“I was wondering if you wanted to be exclusive!” he said in one long rush. He had to resist the urge to hide behind his hands when he said it. He wished he was wearing his sunglasses.

There was a long, hellish silence between them. When Crowley finally felt brave enough to look at Aziraphale again, he knew his must look wide-eyed and desperate. It would be a terrifying sight for most people to behold. He just hoped it wasn't that way for Aziraphale, the one person whose opinion mattered. 

For his part, Aziraphale still looked confused, though he drew back just a bit when Crowley looked him in the eyes. “Are we...not already?”

“Not what?” Crowley asked.

“Exclusive. I hadn't realized we had the option to date anyone else at the moment.”

Was that a whooshing sound? Crowley wondered. Because he had definitely just dodged a bullet. To think he might have gone on casually dating all sorts of blokes these last few months only to have broken Aziraphale's heart at this moment. But Aziraphale's answer still left some questions to be answered. 

“Well, do you _want_ to date around?” Crowley asked carefully, trying to sound indifferent even though he'd already done the pleading-eye-thing at him. “You could, if you wanted.”

Crowley wasn't sure how to feel when Aziraphale laughed at that. 

“My dear boy,” Aziraphale chuckled. “I can hardly manage the ups and downs of _one_ relationship at a time. I can't imagine handling several!” Then his expression turned a bit more serious. “But you've been getting very interested in me, haven't you?”

Crowley blushed brightly, though hopefully not visibly in the dark of the car. He reached out for Aziraphale's hand, the one still holding his sunglasses. “Will you give those back already?!”

Aziraphale laughed again and held the sunglasses out of reach. “I don't think so. You just keep using them to hide and I don't want you hiding from me.” He touched Crowley's face with his other hand, cupped his cheek, and leaned in for a kiss. “I think the world of you too, Crowley. You don't need to be afraid of me.”

That was more than enough to make Crowley stop struggling. Instead he pulled Aziraphale in for another kiss, deeper this time. They were both panting for breath by the time they came up for air. Crowley carded his hands lightly through Aziraphale's hair and stared deep into his eyes. It was hard to see them right now. Crowley wondered if they still showed an edge of fear. It was okay if they did, he decided. Aziraphale had had a lot to fear in his life. So had Crowley. He knew that fear couldn't stop you from doing what you needed to. Aziraphale had already seen his eyes and he had kissed him. This was right. This was good.

“Will you be my boyfriend, Aziraphale? Try the whole 'real relationship' thing with me?”

Aziraphale sucked in a deep breath at the question. He hesitated, but only for a moment. Then he nodded, slightly at first and then vigorously. “Yes. Yes, I think I should like that very much.” He smiled and it didn't matter how dark the car was that night. It was like the sun had come out right in front of Crowley.

Quickly, Crowley took Aziraphale's still lingering hand and kissed its palm. Then he opened his car door. “Right! Well, I'm glad we've gotten that settled. How about we head inside now? I have a feeling we have some important business to attend to.”

They held hands and smiled all the way up to Aziraphale's third floor flat.

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Boyfriends! 

Aziraphale pulled Crowley toward himself and kissed him as hard as he could as soon as they were both through the door. True to her word, Anathema was out for the evening. Aziraphale intended to take full advantage of that fact.

_Boyfriends!_ Aziraphale thought again. His heart was fluttering and his entire body was calling out to be touched. He had a _boyfriend_! Someone who wanted to be with him and only him, and to make it even better, that someone was Crowley! Crowley, the kind, interesting, understanding, and giving man who knew all of Aziraphale's secrets and loved him anyway. Crowley who...admittedly had some very alarming eyes.

That caused a conflict in Aziraphale, even now. On the one hand he knew it was unfair to judge Crowley for something he couldn't help. On the other hand he couldn't stop a little voice in his head from saying, _It's like you're dating a demon..._

The thought was unsettling, yes, but it was also something else.

It was a bit of a turn on.

Back at the Church sex was something that was rarely discussed. It wasn't forbidden exactly, but it was taboo. As a result Aziraphale hadn't even kissed anyone until he went to university and met Claude. They had eventually had sex and that had been nice but also difficult. Aziraphale had kept feeling like he was doing something wrong. 

Then he discovered that doing what was wrong, what was taboo, could be delightfully wicked.

It was a game. It was just a game, a fantasy. That didn't mean that Aziraphale wasn't salivating at the thought of bringing a 'demon' to his bed.

Aziraphale kissed Crowley again, then moved to nip at his neck while pulling at his hair the way he had the last time they'd been together. He heard Crowley take in a sharp breath and smiled in delight. Aziraphale had had a few lovers in the last decade, but it had certainly been a while since he had been as interested in anyone as he was in Crowley. He was so glad he could make him react this way.

“Tell me what you want,” Aziraphale murmured into the skin just below Crowley's ear. “I want to make you so happy tonight.”

Crowley breathed another hitched breath. “Shouldn't...Shouldn't I be saying that to you? You're the one who wanted to take things slowly. I don't even know what your boundaries are anymore.”

Ah. Aziraphale realized that perhaps he had been sending some mixed signals, or at least incomplete information. He moved back a bit to give Crowley some space and explained. “It's been a bit since I took anyone home with me, I'm afraid. I wanted to take things slowly because I, well, discovered the hard way that I'm no good at casual flings. I wanted to make sure there was something between us before we started thinking of removing clothing. 

“Now, however, what with us being in a _relationship_ I think I can put those worries, among other things, to bed.” Aziraphale smiled at his own wordplay then crinkled his brows when he saw that Crowley still looked uncertain. “What I'm saying is, though I reserve the right to change my mind, I'd like to make you climax tonight. Is that...alright with you?”

“Ye-es,” Crowley said slowly, his eyes wide and the color rising in his cheeks. “Yes. Let's. That. Let's do that.” He hurried took off his coat and then looked around for a place to put it. That was the first time their surroundings seemed to register to him. “Blimey. You, uh, you certainly have a lot of books, don't you?”

Indeed, the flat was filled with bookcases that were all bulging with books. Aziraphale's collection was eclectic and sprawling. Normally he was quite proud of it, but at the moment Aziraphale could only see how disorganized everything was. He would much rather focus back on the kissing before Crowley could notice that history was currently hopelessly mixed in with folklore. So he did the first thing that came to mind and pinched Crowley's butt. 

“Yes, I have too many books. They barely fit in the flat. That's why I needed to get an e-reader. Now can we please stop fussing about and get to the ravishing?”

At first Crowley looked shocked and just stood there rubbing at his butt. Then Aziraphale's words seemed to settle in and he grinned wickedly. 

“Well,” said Crowley, “if you insssist...”

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“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale just had time to sputter out before Crowley pounced on him. Crowley's kisses were hard and deep now, insistent on having their way. He tried to put every once of suppressed lust he had into them. After all, he had been longing for this for months now. 

Not only that, but Aziraphale had said he returned Crowley's feelings! They were official now! Crowley would go so far as to put it on Facebook later even. It all left him feeling like a gooey puddle of emotion.

That wouldn't do right now though. Aziraphale wasn't looking for goo. What he wanted was to be ravished. That meant being hard, intense, and delightfully brutal. Crowley could do that. He could do anything for his boyfriend. 

So Crowley kissed Aziraphale's lips, his chin, and his neck. He bit Aziraphale's earlobe and tugged at his hair. Aziraphale barely had a chance to cry out before Crowley tilted his head upwards for another kiss, this one making their tongues intermingle. 

In turn, Aziraphale pawed at Crowley's chest, feeling his body through the thin fabric of his shirt. He found the outline of one of Crowley's nipples and began to fondle it, making Crowley grip Aziraphale by the shoulders and step back while he simply enjoyed the sensation.

“Do you enjoy that?” Aziraphale asked coyly. “I didn't expect you to be so easily enthralled.”

“Angel,” Crowley huffed, trying to speak coherently and breathe. “You have no idea how much control you have over me.”

“Really?” Now Aziraphale sounded intrigued. Dangerously so. “So you'll do whatever I say?”

“Anything.”

“Very well...” Aziraphale pulled Crowley in for another kiss, this one deep and full of temptation. “Take off your shirt.”

Crowley obeyed as quickly as he could and tossed the shirt to floor behind him. Aziraphale frowned and Crowley realized that he probably didn't want to leave clothes strewn about, prim as he was with his own habits. 

But collecting the shirt right now would be distinctly non-ravishing and Crowley knew he still had work to do. He took hold of Aziraphale's lapels and pushed him up against the nearest section of wall that wasn't filled with a bookcase. He pinned Aziraphale's arms above his head and continued snogging the living daylights out of him. Crowley started to grind his body up against him. Crowley's nipples were both hard and alert now, being in the open air, and his cock was getting there as well.

To Crowley's surprise, Aziraphale continued to take initiative and soon was pressing his leg in between Crowley's thighs. Crowley immediately took the invitation and began to grind against it, delighting in the beautiful friction. 

“Is this good?” Aziraphale asked breathlessly. “Do you like manhandling me?”

Why was he asking? Crowley wondered. Was he not getting what he wanted? Was Crowley not ravishing him enough? His partners were usually happy enough to take from Crowley, to enjoy his body however they liked and move on. So what was he doing wrong this time?

“I like whatever you like, angel. Do you want more? What can I give you?”

Then Aziraphale kissed him gently on the cheek and Crowley didn't know what to do with that. He backed up a few steps and took a moment to pick up his shirt. 

“I'm sorry,” Crowley said reflexively. “Did I spoil the mood somehow?”

“Not exactly, my dear.” Aziraphale looked concerned. “I'm just worried you aren't enjoying yourself. You've been doing a lot for me and now I want to make sure I'm doing right by you as well.”

Crowley spluttered. “Wh-I- Doing right by me? Do you have any idea how much I've wanted to have you in my arms? And there you were holding me with your legs between my thighs? That's more than what I need. You're amazing, Aziraphale.”

“Thank you, but...” Aziraphale tilted his head and lifted an eyebrow. “If that's your idea of 'amazing' then I weep for your past sex life.”

“W-What do you mean?” Crowley wasn't sure if he should feel insulted or not.

“Come along to the bedroom, my dear boy. I'd like to demonstrate just how much _I_ appreciate _you_.”

Crowley followed Aziraphale down the hall to his bedroom, feeling surprisingly anxious. He had the feeling he wasn't in control of the situation anymore and he didn't know what to do about it. As soon as they were in the room Aziraphale closed the door and began to take off the top of his suit, hanging it up carefully in his closet. Soon he was left in just his undershirt and his trousers. Crowley sat on the edge of the bed and let out a low breath looking at Aziraphale's arms. He'd never seen them so exposed before. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

“So.”

“So?”

“So what are you going to do to me?” Crowley asked, trying his best to be patient. 

Aziraphale chuckled. “Tell me, Crowley. Do you have any fantasies you'd like fulfilled? Anything you'd particularly like me to do to you? Because that's what I want. I want to pamper you.”

“Nrgk,” Crowley said delicately. “I mean, of course I have _fantasies_, but those are, y'know, private. Let's just get back to our unforgettable, carnal New Year's adventure, shall we?” Crowley smirked and lightly slapped at Aziraphale's bottom.

Unfortunately a playful spank wasn't enough to distract Aziraphale. He took Crowley's hand and knelt before him. “Crowley. There's still so much I don't about you. I don't know what hardships you've endured or how others have treated you. But I want you to know that you're safe with me. I'm not here to judge you no matter what sort of sexual urges you have. Granted there are _some_ things I won't participate in, but I'll do my best! I swear you can trust me not to look down on you or...”

It was too much for Crowley. The tender touch on his hand. The earnest words. That kindhearted look on Aziraphale's face. He felt like he was going to burst from the sheer _goodness_ of it all. It was more than a demon could be expected to take!

“Alright, fine!” Crowley said, pulling his hand away and avoiding Aziraphale's gaze. “I was _going_ to make this a spectacular night for you with the singing and kissing and mind-blowing sex. But if you really want, I'll ruin this too. You know what I'd actually like?”

Aziraphale squared his shoulders. “What?” he asked, looking prepared for anything.

“I'd like a back rub, maybe a blow job, and then I'd like to go to bed early.”

There. The words were out. And Crowley winced as he waited for Aziraphale's reaction.

“Oh.”

“Yup.”

“That's it?”

“That's it. I know, it's dull as dirt, isn't it?”

“My dear boy,” Aziraphale tilted his head and smiled. “Why were you afraid to tell me that? You had me worried!”

“Because I wanted to make tonight incredible for you and my fantasies don't even include you getting off! It just makes me sound like a selfish, lazy bastard and you deserve better than that!”

“Actually it makes you sound like someone who is very tired. Just how much have you been working lately?” And there Aziraphale went again, looking concerned.

Crowley did some quick mental math, then he grimaced at the answer. “...Around seventy hours a week.”

“Seventy hours?!” Aziraphale looked absolutely aghast. “Crowley, I knew you worked two jobs but that is just excessive! I thought the cabaret didn't take much time?”

“It doesn't. It's usually less than ten hours a week.” Crowley shifted on the bed, wishing they could be having sex instead of uncomfortable conversations.

“So you work sixty hours a week at the Dowlings'? My dear, how do you manage?”

“Look, it's not that big a deal. Can we just...” Crowley trailed off as Aziraphale stood and removed his shirt, revealing a tantalizing soft belly and chest covered in a feathering of light blond hair. He was beautiful and Crowley's mouth went dry. “Wha-What are you doing?”

“I think it's past time that we both got rid of the rest of our clothing, don't you agree?” Aziraphale said lightly. He started to undo his belt and Crowley blushed furiously, but grinned nonetheless. 

“Alright, so you want to have sex after all? I can still do that.” Crowley began to unbutton his own trousers. “These take a bit of wriggling to take off, so you'd better not laugh at me if you know what's good for you!”

“I want you to lie down on the bed.”

Was Aziraphale giving orders now? Fine. That was something Crowley could also work with. Just as long as it made Aziraphale happy. Crowley finished stripping and began to crawl along the bed, feeling strangely apprehensive. 

“Lie down on your stomach.”

Crowley did as he was told, though the knot in his gut got tighter. Just what was Aziraphale going to do to him? He heard Aziraphale's trousers fall to the floor. A moment later, Aziraphale was beside him, Crowley could feel it. He didn't look. He hadn't been told to look. He just waited for Aziraphale to touch him.

Then he did. It was just a brush of a fingertip, as light as a feather. Still, Crowley tensed at the sensation before he could force himself to relax. 

“It's alright, Crowley,” Aziraphale said gently. “All I'm going to do is exactly what you wanted. I think you more than deserve it.” He then climbed onto the bed and sat carefully on top of Crowley. A moment later Aziraphale began rubbing his hands against Crowley's back. 

Immediately the touch was something out of this world. Crowley had had professional massages before and it was clear Aziraphale was no professional, but even still there was something almost magically soothing about his touch that made Crowley feel like his tension was just melting away. 

“That...That's very good,” Crowley said dreamily. “I like feeling your legs too. You're just...You're perfect, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale leaned forward and kissed Crowley's back, in the process brushing him with the skin of his belly as well. Crowley took in a sharp breath at the sensation. He felt like he was utterly surrounded by kindness, by a pampering goodness that just focused on him. It was simple and beautiful and it made him want to cry. He'd never felt so protected before, so...lo—no he wouldn't go there. He wouldn't spoil things by wanting even more. This moment was perfect just as it was.

“My,” said Aziraphale, “even I can tell that you've been holding a lot of tension. What having the Dowlings been doing to you?”

Crowley let out a low moan as Aziraphale pressed his thumb into a particularly hard knot in his lower back. This was absolute heaven on Earth. “Mr. Dowling is a diplomat and Mrs. Dowling is a diplomat's wife. They keep busy going to meetings and parties and luncheons and who knows what else nearly every day. It leads to a lot of ten-hour days for me. It doesn't help that Warlock has been sick lately and needing extra care. I have to do a lot of cleaning to keep everything sterile and all that. It's also been the holidays so Dr. Sable hasn't even been showing up to tutor the kid. It's just...It's been a lot.”

Aziraphale ran a fingertip down Crowley's spine and Crowley shivered in delight. “It sounds like they're taking advantage of you. You shouldn't have to do all that work for one job.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. They don't even pay me by the hour. But at the same time...I don't have anything else. I'm in my thirties and I don't have any work experience outside of nannying and a few hellish months as a barista. I...I didn't get out as soon as you did, angel.”

“What do you mean, 'get out'?” Aziraphale asked, sounding worried. “Do you mean get away from your, um, family?”

“...Right.”

Aziraphale paused the massage for a moment, but continued when Crowley didn't add anything. They both went on in silence for a time as Crowley tried to enjoy himself again. Why did he keep doing this? There was so much he could never tell Aziraphale or anyone else about his upbringing and yet he kept dropping hints whenever they started to have an intimate moment together. 

“I got out five years ago,” Crowley continued to blather despite his brain screaming for him to stop. “I had sack full of money and a great car, but no idea how to handle an independent life. I...I had a lot of false starts. Being with the Dowlings is the first time I've been stable and on my own in my life. I can't just throw that away.”

“I didn't say you should.”

“You were thinking it. I've been thinking it too. All the time.”

Aziraphale slid off of Crowley's back and tilted his head up for a kiss. “You could always find another family. I'm sure there are parents who would treat you better than the Dowlings do.”

Crowley shook his head. He'd had to lie a _lot_ to get this position. Not to mention the bit of mesmerizing he'd thrown in. He didn't think he'd get so lucky again. Besides... “I can't just leave Warlock with those people. Not yet. He needs someone to protect him.”

“Ah. That makes sense, I suppose,” Aziraphale said sympathetically. “That poor child, living in such a hostile home.”

“Though I guess we both know it could be a lot worse,” Crowley said with a dry chuckle. 

“That's quite true,” Aziraphale agreed. “Now, I know we haven't exactly solved your problem, but are you feeling better?”

Like that was even a question that needed answering. Crowley could feel relief and relaxation coursing through him now. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so good. He gave Aziraphale a soft smile. “Everything is great. Now did you want to go to sleep?”

“Oh, no. That's step three, if you'll recall.”

Crowley frowned. Step three? Then what was...oh. Oh! The answer came to him as Aziraphale went to the end of the bed and nestled between Crowley's thighs, looking very mischievous as he did so. Crowley flipped over and blushed as Aziraphale took his first full look at him. Whatever Aziraphale thought of Crowley's erection, he didn't say anything. He just began to kiss the inside of Crowley's thighs, making noises of delight as he moved closer to his prize. 

Those noises were more than enough to make Crowley fully erect. Then Aziraphale kissed Crowley directly on his penis and Crowley had to remind himself to breathe. Aziraphale looked up at him through his eyelashes. His expression clearly asking, 'Is this what you want?'

There was no doubt in Crowley's mind what he wanted then. He wanted Aziraphale. He wanted a future together where they could take away each other's worries. He wanted to be able to make them both look forward to things instead of dwell in the past. And, most immediately, he wanted his boyfriend to suck his cock until he came in a fantastic, toe-curling, hair-pulling, crescendo of an orgasm. Not being able to say any of that, Crowley settled for nodding vigorously.

Aziraphale smiled broadly, then pounced, taking most of Crowley's penis in his mouth in one swoop. It was so sudden that Crowley gasped and arched his back. Soon Aziraphale was moving up and down in a steady rhythm, combining the use of his mouth with strokes for his hand. At first that was enough for Crowley, more than enough. Then he noticed something else. Aziraphale was using his spare hand to stroke his own cock at a pace matching what he was doing to Crowley.

That meant that not only was Aziraphale working to please Crowley, he was getting off on it! And that alone was enough to ratchet up Crowley's own arousal by several orders of magnitude. He whimpered a brief warning, and then he was gone. He let out a cry that he was only vaguely aware of as his consciousness ascended to another plane of reality. 

He there in a daze as Aziraphale continued to jerk off over him, looking like a beautiful hedonistic angel. Then Aziraphale was over the edge too, crying out Crowley's name as he came onto his stomach.

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Aziraphale was the first to come out of the orgasm-induced coma. He hurried to clean them both off and drink some water before curling up beside Crowley, who immediately wrapped around him like a snake. Now that everything was settled he felt a bit embarrassed by the things he had thought to arouse himself during Crowley's blowjob. But pretending he was blowing a demon had been one of the most titillating fantasies he'd ever had. 

Now Crowley was staring at him with eyes full of gratitude and sleepiness. It made Aziraphale feel warm inside, happy to see his boyfriend happy. 

His boyfriend. My, how the world was changing. 

He kissed Crowley once more and curled into him under the covers just as the clocks struck midnight. Cheers could be heard in the distance, matching the cheers in Aziraphale's heart as they drifted off to sleep.

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At the same time three people were meeting at their favorite bar. Objectively it was a terrible bar. For whatever reason, even on New Year's Eve it was filled with unpleasant customers more interested in fighting than drinking who left the floor strewn with glass in their wake. It was exactly the sort of place these three loved to be. 

They wore red, white, and black and as midnight tolled they were laughing.

“So what did you do next?” Raven Sable asked Carmine. 

She grinned gleefully. “I gave him a flyer for the yoga studio. You know the one. Plus I may have added a bit of a compulsion to it. He'll be there in the next week or two.”

Chalky looked thoughtful. “That's going to be interesting. Or are you just trying to stir up trouble?

“You know me,” Carmine said, not even trying to look innocent. “I'm always looking to start trouble. I don't know how the two of you have played nice for so long, but I'm tired of watching and waiting. The idiots met. It's about time someone asked us to do something about them!”

“Here, here,” said Raven, who clinked his glass with Carmine's then pointedly put it down without drinking a drop. “So. Who do you think will win?”

Carmine shrugged. “Does it matter? I'm fine with it as long as there's fighting.”

“And starving.” Raven added.

“And filth...” Chalky trailed off because they knew what they were all thinking. There was one more that had to come. They hadn't seen him in years, but that didn't matter. He would be there before the end.

He always was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Crowley received a flyer encouraging him to go to a local yoga studio. He's planning to go.  
\- Crowley and Aziraphale agreed that they wanted to be boyfriends.  
\- Crowley admitted he is working an absurd amount for the Dowlings but is scared to leave.  
\- Sex was had.  
\- Aziraphale privately fetishized Crowley during said sex, thinking of him as a 'demon'.  
\- Happy cuddles into the new year.  
\- Then another scene where nothing important happened.
> 
> \- Okay, actually Carmine met up with Chalky and Dr. Sable and admitted to being the one who gave Crowley the yoga flyer. This will cause trouble in some way, currently unknown. The three look forward to it...
> 
> Anyway, thank you all for reading my latest chapter! I know I got some new readers recently, so I hope you all enjoyed this newest installment! I'll be back soon with a jam-packed chapter! I look forward to hearing your thoughts on this one in the meantime! Thank you!


	16. Sympathy for the Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley makes some new friends. Aziraphale makes a new enemy. Neither know what they're getting into.

**Chapter Sixteen**

The Further Reach yoga studio was above a posh fitness store in one of the more commercial areas of London. Crowley wrinkled his nose when he found it. A place like that had to be on the expensive side. Still, there was a coupon on the flyer promising one free lesson and he was already there. He might as well give it a try. If nothing else, he'd get a good story out of the experience to tell his boyfriend, Aziraphale, about.

His boyfriend. Yes, Crowley was still grinning like a loon about that, even if it had been two weeks already. They'd only been able to see each other on a few occasions in the intervening time, but they had messaging each other nonstop. Usually it was just about how their days were going and how they missed each other, but there were a growing number of x-rated messages between them as well. Crowley was dearly looking forward to the next time he'd have Aziraphale alone for a few hours again.

Reflecting on all that was enough to put Crowley in a good mood as he entered the studio. It was a mood that quickly soured as he took a look around the place. Oh no, there were..._people_ here. Not fun people either, not like at the cabaret. They looked like a bunch of Barbies and Kens who would be smiling you to death one minute and then demanding a manager the next. Crowley had had plenty of experience with that type back when he was a barista. They'd been more than enough for him to vow to never work in the service industry again. 

So he steered away from the lot of them in their fancy yoga pants and plastic smiles and walked over to the only other weirdo in the room: a older man with a disheveled beard and some ratty old sweatpants. He was looking around the studio furtively and the rest of the class seemed to be avoiding him, so Crowley took that as a good sign.

“So,” Crowley said causally, “this is the intro to yoga class?”

The man eyed him suspiciously. “Aye, that's what it is. Haven't seen you here before. You looking to get all stretchy?”

“No, of course not. I'm here to...” Crowley pulled out his flyer and examined it, “'center my body and my mind'. Should be able to balance on one of those giant balls when I'm done here, right?”

“I should hope not. Sounds like that would be right unnatural. There's a fine line between twisting your body all around and proper witchcraft. I'm here to keep an eye on this lot, just in case.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. He didn't know what to say to that. “Witchcraft?”

The man nodded. “Aye. Most folks think the time of witches is past, but that's why you've got to keep an eye out for them now more than ever. Otherwise they'll be sure to get you!” He leaned in closer to whisper. “That's why I keep a pin with me wherever I go.”

This line of conversation was not getting any easier to follow. “A pin? To...stab witches with?”

“Of course! It's a test, you see! A witch won't feel a thing if you poke her. Or him. Got to stay open-minded in these dark times.”

“Mr. Shadwell!” a voice called out across the room. “I hope you aren't scaring our new recruit away. We haven't had a chance to meet them!”

Crowley turned his head, grateful for the interruption. He saw a smiling woman approaching them. She had the top part of her hair pulled into a bun, while the sides had been buzzed down. It was a delightfully queer haircut and it immediately made Crowley inclined to like her. She held out a hand and Crowley shook it.

“I'm Michael Deus,” she said with an infectious grin. “I use she/her pronouns and I'm the teacher for this group. May I ask your name?”

Pronouns? Maybe this group was more progressive than he had thought, never mind that everyone there was white. “I'm Crowley. I use he/him, mostly anyway. I saw your flyer and thought I'd give this place a shot.”

Michael's brow wrinkled. “Just Crowley? We tend to go by first names here, if that's alright. It helps everyone feel closer.”

“Oh,” said Crowley. He didn't usually bother with his first name. Sometimes he wondered if people like the Dowlings even knew it. As a matter of fact, did Aziraphale even know it? But it wasn't that big of deal to him. “Alright. You can call me Anthony.”

Michael smiled like he had just given her a beautiful gift. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Anthony. That really is a wonderful name.”

“It's alright,” Crowley said with a shrug. Still, it was nice. He'd never had anyone compliment his name before. “So, where do we start? I don't know much about yoga to be honest. Thought I'd just give it a shot, as something different, you know.”

“That's great! It's wonderful that you want to try something new. I hope you like our technique here.” Michael clapped her hands and the rest of the class turned to her. “Alright everyone, it's time to begin! Let's get in a circle and make Anthony feel welcome!”

The others all smiled at Crowley then. Some seemed more forced than others, but he was surprised at how many of their expressions looked genuine. Everyone formed a circle then sat on the floor. Crowley followed suit and sat between Michael and a middle-aged woman who quickly introduced herself as Tara. 

“It's nice to have you here,” said Tara. “It's always so much fun when we get someone new!”

“So Anthony,” Michael said, turning to him, “you may have read that at A Further Reach we try to enhance our lives both spiritually and mentally. To that end, we like to start each session by going around in a circle, introducing ourselves, saying a little bit about what's been going on in our lives or what's been on our minds lately, and then receiving affirmations from the group. We generally try to keep things positive here, but if there's something that's been weighing on you, you're welcome to share that too. This is a strict no-judgment zone!”

Crowley looked around the group. Most of them were still looking back at him and smiling expectantly. Oh no, was he going to have to open up to a group of complete strangers? He'd only come here to learn to put his feet behind his head! It was too late to get out now though, so he did his best to smile back at everyone.

Michael patted him on the shoulder. “Relax. It's not as bad as it sounds. I'll go first so you can everyone else go before you and you can see how it's done, alright?”

“Oh, um, alright,” Crowley said. He still felt nervous, but Michael's touch was reassuring. It felt pleasant and warm on his arm. It made him think of how rarely anyone touched him. Aziraphale was only around every so often, and besides him and Warlock, Crowley realized that was a very lonely person. Look at him, so desperate for human connection that he was giving himself a complex over one lousy touch!

“So, today I wanted to talk about something a bit personal,” Michael began. “A while ago my family had a fight that drove away a dear cousin of mine. He was a very good person, but maybe too sensitive for his own good. He refused to speak to any of us again and one day he just disappeared completely.” 

Michael shook her head, clearly feeling pained by her memories. “But there's good news! We've finally been able to find out where he moved to and it's right here in London! Today I want to share my hope that my cousin will come back to me and the rest of my family.”

The group nodded and smiled. A few said encouraging words.

“You deserve to see your family whole again.”

“You keep that hope alive!”

“I'll be praying for you, Michael!”

She thanked them all then looked to her right. A man named Dale introduced himself and said he'd started to volunteer at a soup kitchen once a week. Once again everyone encouraged him. After that went Joanie, who had been struggling to raise her two-year-old lately, and Kristen, who had won an award for a poem she'd written. 

One after another they all talked briefly about whatever was on their minds. There were about twenty of them in all so it took a while, but Crowley found he didn't mind. It was nice learning a bit about all these people. Sure, they were still probably far wealthier than him, but they also weren't as shallow as he'd first assumed they'd be. The really refreshing part was the way everyone was so encouraging no matter what each person brought up. Crowley didn't think he'd ever heard so much sincerity in one place. It was surprisingly heart-warming. 

Still, Crowley didn't participate himself until it was Shadwell's turn to speak. Shadwell had also been very quiet up to that point, crossing his arms and looking gruff with the whole group. Crowley was beginning to wonder why he was here. 

“You all know me,” Shadwell said by way of an introduction. Though he did nod at Crowley in particular. “The hunt for the lost witch continues. I've got my finest troops on it though, and we're following several leads. I have every confidence we'll find her...or him...before she finds her master. Then we can...”

“Thank you, Mr. Shadwell,” said Michael, thankfully interrupting the old man. “I always appreciate how earnest you are. It would be a great pleasure to discuss all this more after class. What do you say?”

Shadwell grumbled but agreed. Crowley looked around the room and saw that everyone was avoiding looking at Shadwell, like they were embarrassed. And, alright, maybe the man had a few marbles loose but that didn't mean he didn't deserve a bit of positive energy like everyone else.

“I'm sure you'll do great!” Crowley said with a bit of a fit pump. When even Shadwell stared at him Crowley coughed and added. “Y'know, with the witch hunting. You'll find that lost witch!”

The positivity seemed a bit lost on Shadwell a moment. He blinked a few times then actually smiled. “Aye. We'll get her alright!”

Michael had to intervene again to keep Shadwell from trying to recruit Crowley into his witchfinder army, but she still shot Crowley a grateful smile. He guessed that not many people tried to be nice to Shadwell.

Then it was Tara's turn. For some reason everyone looked at her with particular attention. She took a shaky breath then said, “Well, I finally did it. I left my husband. For good this time.”

A ring of sounds came out of the class. Some people gasped, some cheered, and others said their congratulations.

“That's so brave, Tara!”

“You're an inspiration!”

“Can I hug you?”

Eventually it evolved into a group hug with Tara at the center. Crowley probably would have stuck to the outskirts of that one, but the others pulled him in, one person saying that he deserved to be a part of this joyous moment too. So Crowley participated in the hug, letting himself become part of the group. For Tara. It sounded like she had had a rough time of it lately. Besides, it wasn't a bad thing to get caught up in a wave of caring, right?

When the group finally settled down again Tara was crying. “I want to thank you all so much. I never would have had the courage to do this without your support!”

“Do you need somewhere to stay?” Michael asked. “I know some people who would be happy to host you.”

“Thank you,” Tara said with a smile. “That would help a lot.”

They agreed to talk after class. Then it was Crowley's turn. He shifted uncomfortably on the floor. He didn't know how to follow up the woman who'd just found the courage to leave her presumed wanker of a husband.

“Hello, everyone. I'm Cro-er, Anthony. There's, uh, not that much to know about me, I suppose. I work as a nanny for an unpleasant family and my eyes are sensitive so that's why I wear the sunglasses all the time. Um, I've never really done something like this before. Sorry.”

“Don't worry, you're doing great,” said Tara. She put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a little smile. “Why don't you tell us about something that's happened to you recently?”

Being put on the spot, Crowley had to wrack his brain for anything interesting that had ever happened to him. Then he settled on the obvious. “Well, this man I've been seeing recently agreed to be my boyfriend...”

Instantly another wave of cheer went through the circle.

“Alright!”

“Congratulations, Anthony!”

“Ooo! What's his name?”

Crowley blushed. “His name's Aziraphale. He's...well, I like him a lot. He makes me happy.”

“And that's a beautiful thing,” said Michael. She was smiling wider than ever now. “And on that note, why don't we all get in position for some yoga? I know some of you are newer at this than others, so I'll be giving beginner modifications to the moves as we go...”

Following the others' lead, Crowley grabbed a yoga mat and laid it down between Shadwell and Tara to begin the lesson. Strangely, he already felt like he had done some stretching of a sort and he felt good for it.

An hour later everyone was sweaty and sore, but smiling. As they packed and cleaned up it seemed like every member of the class took a moment to welcome Crowley and congratulate him on doing so well on his first lesson. Crowley laughed more than once. Yoga had turned out to be harder than he'd expected. He was more out of shape than he'd realized, but it hadn't seemed to matter in such a friendly group.

Michael waved him over before he left. “So, what did you think? Do you feel all centered in your mind and body? Or are you mostly just sore?”

Crowley chuckled. “I am sore, but I have to admit that was pretty fun. It was nice meeting so many friendly people. So, uh, thanks, I suppose.”

“Hey, it's what I live to do! And it was great having you here. I think you really made Shadwell's day when you spoke to him earlier.” She took a sip from her water bottle. “Do you think we'll be seeing you next week, then? I think you'd be a great addition to the class.”

Oh, right. Capitalism still existed. Crowley's smile began to fade. “Yeah...I don't think so. I saw your prices online and that's just not something I can justify. It's a shame because the class was really great. I just...”

Then Michael held up a hand for him to stop talking. “Listen, I understand. We _are_ a little pricey so we can afford the rent at this nice studio. But A Further Reach also has a sponsor that helps us out sometimes. I'd be happy to vouch for you and get you some more free lessons. How does that sound to you?”

It sounded too good to be true. Crowley narrowed his eyes at her. “I wouldn't have to push drugs or something would I?”

That made Michael laugh and put Crowley more at ease. She had a good laugh; it was reassuring. “Nothing like that, Anthony! Listen, I'll be honest with you. A Further Reach has some religious ties so God talk will come up every now and then, but if that's alright with you, we're all about helping people. You may have noticed that we're basically half a therapy group. I'm reaching out to you because I think we can help you. Call it a sixth sense, but I feel like there's a lot of sadness in you, a lot of loneliness. I think we could help with that.”

Crowley stared at her for a moment. They had barely even met and she had already seen right through him. Even his relationship with Mary had taken longer than that. 

He knew then that he had to come back.

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Meanwhile Aziraphale was busy at the bookshop, trying to focus on the alphabet and not thinking about Crowley. He needed to alphabetize the sci-fi section in preparation for inventory, but he kept checking his mobile in his pocket just in case he had missed a message from Crowley. (Thankfully Chalky was a relaxed sort of manager who allowed things like cell phones on the sales floor.)

His focus also wasn't helped by the fact that Newt was busy trying to recommend something to a woman and was going about it all wrong. 

“It's a mystery, you see. There's a murder and all of these clues that make a lot of sense if you're into programming at all.”

“I'm not,” the woman said firmly.

Aziraphale could hear Newt slump. “Oh. Well, it's still a very good story! There's barely any techno-babble and...”

Oh dear. A quick look told Aziraphale that the woman was rapidly losing interest. She had an annoyed look on her face and taking steps away from Newt. It wasn't Newt's fault though, the woman had seemed irritated since she first came in, scowling like it was second nature to her. It went well with her frilly, all black outfit and the faint smell of fish that had followed her in.

“Look,” she said rather harshly, “it's clear you don't know what you're talking about. Why don't you find someone who can give me a real recommendation?”

That was when Aziraphale firmly put down the book he was holding and headed over. Chalky was out at the moment, which left him as (technically) the most senior employee. And he wasn't about to let a rude customer bully poor Newt.

“Perhaps I can be of assistance?” Aziraphale asked politely but determined. His tone said, 'I will help you, but I won't put up with trouble-making.' 

The woman stared at him for just a second, but it was enough to make Aziraphale feel chilly. Then she smiled and he felt like she wanted to eat him alive.

“Yes, maybe you can help,” she said slowly. “I'm looking for something new to read. Something with some adventure to it. Maybe some mysteries.” She took a step closer, still grinning. It looked almost like she had too many teeth. Aziraphale swallowed and took a step back. “Come on now, book man. What do you think I should read?”

Why was she posturing like this? A part of Aziraphale wondered. They were just a customer and an employee in a bookshop! Why did it feel like she was testing him? Unless...of course! She must be a secret shopper! Someone who was sent to make sure everything was in tip-top shape. Well, he wasn't about to leave her wanting!

He scanned her up and down, trying to get a sense of the woman's character beyond her aggressive demeanor. In a moment the answer came to him. She seemed proud yes, but perhaps that was to mask an insecurity. She would root for an underdog, someone who would undermine a whole system and leave those in power quaking. Yes, this woman needed a book that defied expectations as much as she did.

Aziraphale held up a finger then quickly went back and grabbed something from sci-fi. The woman followed, sneering again. Then he triumphantly handed her a novel.

“_Lovecraft Country_ by Matt Ruff. It's an American horror-adventure novel with lots of punch to it!” Aziraphale lightly punched the air to illustrate. 

“Hmm. Not bad,” said the woman. “I do like Lovecraft. I've got a whole collection of his works. For such a pathetic little man he had a good handle on turning the screws of the human psyche.”

It wasn't pleasant to hear her say 'human'. It was almost like she excluded herself from the category. 

“Well,” Aziraphale went on, “this story is interesting because it examines the racism inherent in many of Lovecraft's stories and turns it on it's head. All of the main characters in this book are black and they learn how to use Lovecraft's horrors against the racist white antagonists. It's a thoroughly entertaining story.”

The woman gave him a curious look then, as though she was both amused and frustrated at once. “Yes...” she said slowly. “That does sound interesting. You're very good at your job, aren't you?”

“Oh, you flatter me, ma'am,” Aziraphale replied with a soft smile. “I just read a lot, so it's easy for me to pair people up with new books.”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that.” She rolled her eyes and Aziraphale had to once again suppress his irritation with her.

“Well, in any case, would you like to purchase it? I can ring you out right over...”

“Nah, I think I'll just take it,” she said with a smirk. “I'll be seeing you!”

Aziraphale was so confused by the knowing look she gave him that for a moment he didn't realize what she was doing. Newt was quicker on his feet and started to run to prevent the woman from leaving with the book.

Then something very strange happened. The woman snapped her fingers and Newt went tumbling to the floor, hitting his head on a display table on the way down. By the time Aziraphale moved to his side the woman had laughed her way out the door. Aziraphale let her go. Newt's well-being was more important. 

Newt groaned as he rolled over onto his back. “What just happened?” He looked down at his feet and gasped. Aziraphale followed his gaze and stared in surprise. Newt's shoelaces were tied together.

And then there was another distraction. Aziraphale's phone vibrated in his pocket. Now really wasn't the time, but he pulled it out anyway on the off chance that he needed to call 999. He couldn't help reading the message from Crowley when he turned on the screen.

**C: Just wondering, angel, but do you know my name?**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure about the ending of this chapter, hopefully it's not too sudden, but I thought it tied nicely in with the chapter title and the theme.
> 
> So, surprise! I'm posting this on my birthday! In hobbit fashion you all get the gift! I hope you liked this chapter and the next one will hopefully be out some time next week. Please leave a comment with your thoughts. They mean the world to me.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	17. Witches and Cupids and Communication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale plays Cupid, then worries about love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has explicit content toward the end.

**Chapter Seventeen**

**A: I assume you mean your first name? Of course I know it. It would be odd for me not to at this point.**

Several hours had passed since the mysterious and rude shoplifter had left the store. Now Aziraphale and Newt were closing up for the day and Aziraphale was grateful to finally have a chance to return Crowley's message. The last few hours had not been easy for him. In fact, things were still hard because Newt was still talking.

“I just don't see how she could have tied my shoes together like that!” Newt said for the seventh time that day. “I'm just saying, it seems unnatural!”

“And I'm saying, once again, that there must have been a moment when we were distracted and she had the opportunity. Shoelaces don't just tie themselves.” Aziraphale had made this point clear several times now, but Newt was still refusing to listen. Maybe it was the injury to his head. Newt claimed to fine but his thoughts were clearly fixating. 

“I know, I know,” said Newt sounding entirely uncertain. “But she _was_ wearing all black! What if she was some kind of witch?”

Before Aziraphale could strain his eyes from rolling them, there was a knock at the front door. He turned, expecting to inform the potential customer they were closed, but was pleased to see Anathema standing just outside. In all the excitement, he had forgotten that they had made dinner plans. That gave Aziraphale a sudden idea.

“Newt, how would you like to meet a 'real' witch?”

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Half an hour later Aziraphale was unsure if he'd made a wise decision or not, bringing his two friends together. 

“So, no, I've never heard of a witch who could manipulate reality just by snapping her fingers, but it could be something else. Any chance you have poltergeists in your store?”

“Not that I know of... Do you think they could be the reason the register keeps breaking when I use it?”

On the one hand, the two of them kept speaking about supernatural nonsense. Still, on the other hand, they seemed to have hit it off very nicely. Newt wouldn't stop smiling nervously and Anathema had a certain sparkle in her eye that Aziraphale had never seen before. 

Suddenly, his phone buzzed. It was Crowley again.

**C: Not to doubt you, but how do you know? I'm sure I never told you my first name and you never asked.**

Aziraphale blushed. “Oh, dear,” he said to himself. 

The other two paused their conversation and looked at him.

“What is it?” asked Anathema with a mischievous smile. “Did Crowley send you another dirty text?”

“Oh? Who's Crowley?” asked Newt, finally interested in a new topic. “Is he the one you've been messaging these last few weeks?”

Anathema answered first. “You don't know? Crowley is Aziraphale's edgy rebel boyfriend. He likes fast cars, has a mysterious past, and always leaves very interesting marks on Aziraphale's....aura.”

“Anathema, please!” Aziraphale cried, blushing harder. “Crowley is a very good man and he isn't sending me dirty messages...at the moment. He's just asked me a question that has a rather awkward answer.”

The two stared at him, waiting for him to go on. 

“He...wants to know how I know his first name.”

Newt blinked. “Alright. Did you Facebook stalk him or something?”

“Unlikely,” Anathema chimed in, “Aziraphale barely knows what Facebook is.”

“He is pretty behind the times,” Newt agreed. “I'm surprised he even has a smartphone. Though it might be because his old phone stopped working when I borrowed it one day.”

Anathema asked for the full story and Aziraphale proceeded to ignore them both. Perhaps it was rude, but he wasn't going to just listen to them make fun of him. Besides, he'd rather be talking to Crowley, awkward or not.

**A: I may have read it on your credit card the first time you bought something at the store. I know it sounds strange, but I was very infatuated! I suppose I never asked, but now that we're dating would you prefer that I call you Anthony?**

Then Aziraphale noticed that his companions had both quiet. He looked up and found them both reading over his shoulder. He put the screen to his chest. “Really, must you two? I'm trying to have a private conversation!” The phone buzzed again and Aziraphale couldn't resist looking at it immediately.

**C: No, Crowley is fine. I just had an interesting time yoga is all. It came up. You came up even. I'd love to tell you all about it. Are you free tonight?**

“You should definitely go see him!” said Anathema, who had neither moved nor apologized for reading over Aziraphale's shoulder. “It's been weeks since your last date! You deserve a chance to catch up in person.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Aziraphale replied. “I'm having dinner with you two. I'm not just going to abandon you so I can have a snog with my boyfriend.” Even if that was exactly what he wanted to do.

Newt waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, come on. You just spent all day with me. And you live with Anathema. It sounds like Crowley is the one who doesn't get to see you enough.” 

“And besides,” Anathema grinned, “if you stay any longer you'll be interrupting _my_ date.”

That was enough to make Aziraphale and Newt exchange a confused look, though in Newt's case the look quickly escalated to alarmed as Anathema reached across the table and wove her hand with his.

“What do you say, Newton?” Anathema asked with a wink. “Want to make this a night for two? I'll tell you all about my favorite conspiracy theories and you can tell me about video games you've tried to play.”

For his part, Newt seemed utterly flummoxed. “Uhh...I, well, I...” was all he could say as he blushed furiously. Aziraphale imagined that his thoughts were caught somewhere between 'I must participate in this ruse to help my friend' and 'A beautiful woman is touching me!' Aziraphale tried to hide his smile.

Still, Aziraphale had sensed some genuine hints of chemistry in the air, so he stood and put a hand on Anathema's shoulder. “Well, I suppose I had best stop imposing then. Especially since my witchy friend has caught...the eye of Newt!”

Anathema laughed politely and shooed him off. Soon Aziraphale was on his way home, quickly messaging Crowley as he went. 

As soon as he was gone Anathema gave Newt's hand a squeeze and went back to her dinner. Newt watched her with a perplexed expression for a few seconds before he spoke.

“Sorry if I'm being dense, but are we actually out on a date now?”

Anathema chewed thoughtfully then answered, “Do you want us to be?”

Now, Newt hadn't been on a proper date in about a year and had certainly never been with someone as attractive as Anathema. It was a minor miracle that he managed to keep his answer to a simple, “Yes, please.”

“Good. That will make things easier. So, tell me, what's it like working at the bookstore? Do you get a lot of potential witches in there?”

Newt laughed. “Not as far as I know. Not unless Aziraphale counts, of course.”

There was a sudden spark of interest in Anathema's eyes and she leaned in closer. “You think Aziraphale is magical?”

Of course the obvious thing to do would be to laugh the question off and say 'of course not!' But something about the look on Anathema's face made Newt reconsider. Instead he told her what he really thought. He talked about Aziraphale's unusual knack for finding the perfect book for _every_ customer, the way customers often brought in baked goods just when he was feeling peckish, and the way that on three separate occasions Aziraphale had talked would-be shoplifters into returning their stolen goods.

It would have sounded outlandish to imply these things were supernatural on any other date with any other woman, but Anathema just seemed more enthralled the more Newt spoke. It was a very good sign for their budding relationship.

“So basically, he's strange, but in a good way,” Newt concluded. “He's like...He's like a living angel is what he is.”

Anathema smiled and stroked his hand again, making Newt feel both nervous and thrilled. “He really is.”

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Aziraphale practically ran all the way to his apartment building. Crowley had promised to meet him there as soon as possible and, considering the way he drove, that likely meant that Crowley would be the first one there. Sure enough, a familiar Bentley was pulling into the car park just as Aziraphale arrived.

He hurried over to the Bentley and smiled as Crowley stepped out. For a moment Aziraphale was at a loss for words. He had forgotten just how beautiful Crowley was in their weeks apart. He couldn't understand how he had survived so much separation when even part of him wanted to touch Crowley so much right now. His skin was practically vibrating with need. 

Then Crowley reached back into the car and pulled out a bouquet of flowers. That was it. That was the end for Aziraphale. There was nothing he could do except march up to Crowley, ignore his greeting, and pull him into a hard, burning kiss.

Crowley looked dazed when they finally moved apart. “Not complaining, but what was that for?”

“I missed you,” said Aziraphale bashfully. “And besides, you brought me flowers! Those...are for me, right?”

“Nah. I just thought I'd court your neighbors while I'm here. I need them to like me if they're going to put up with all the noise we'll be making.” Crowley winked then handed over the bouquet. “Happy something, angel. You deserve every flower in the world.”

Aziraphale blushed and grinned back at him. “You seem to be in a good mood. Have you had a nice day?”

“I have,” Crowley admitted. “Yoga was surprisingly relaxing. And they offered me more free lessons. I think I'll go again. They're a friendly bunch.”

“Oh, that's wonderful to hear! I hope you make some good friends there.” And Aziraphale meant it. He had noticed in the past few months that though Crowley knew many people, there were few that he seemed to think of as friends. In fact, the only people he seemed to trust were Aziraphale, Warlock, and possibly his therapist Mary. It felt good to see him reaching out to other people. Maybe they would help him to open up more.

For the moment though, Crowley was still self-conscious. He quickly changed the subject. “And how about your day? Has anything interesting happened in the land of books?”

“Oh, nothing too exciting,” Aziraphale said as he led Crowley inside. He found that he wasn't really in the mood to go over the day's events once more, having spent hours going over them with Newt already. Instead he was much more concerned with exposing as much of Crowley's skin as possible and touching every inch of it. “We did deal with a tricky shoplifter. Then later I got to play Cupid.”

“Really? What—” 

But they were inside the flat now and Aziraphale was done with questions. He wanted something simple and primal. He pulled Crowley into another kiss, this one deeper and more intense. This kiss wasn't a thank you or a greeting. It was an invitation. Aziraphale reached down with both hands and gripped Crowley's arse tightly. Crowley made a noise of surprise.

“Excited are we?” Crowley asked when they moved apart to breathe. He was smirking, looking very pleased with himself.

The smirk made Aziraphale blush. He still wasn't quite used to being so bold when it came to intimate matters. It seemed that Crowley brought it out in him. “I have had a bit of trying day, my dear. It would help me relax a great deal if you would be willing to give me a good, er, pounding so to speak.”

Crowley chuckled. “You know, you could just ask me to fuck you, angel.”

“Didn't I just? I think I was perfectly clear.” Aziraphale gently removed Crowley's sunglasses, an action that still made Crowley gulp, and stared into his eyes with a mischievous smirk of his own. “I want you inside me. I want you to come inside me. I want you to rail into me until we both collapse.” He leaned closer and whispered in Crowley's ear. “Was that clear enough, my dear?”

And Crowley let out a long, slow breath, his eyes never leaving Aziraphale. “Clear as crystal, angel.”

Soon after, Aziraphale's wishes were coming true. Crowley was pounding away into him and Aziraphale was doing his best just to stay upright on all fours. They were both streaming sweat, trying not to make too much noise but barely caring at this point. Aziraphale was both lost to the sensation and lost in his own fantasies.

In his mind he was with a demon again, a handsome yet sinful trickster who had manipulated him into carnal activity. He was forcing Aziraphale to admit that he liked being taken like this, by a creature of pure wickedness. And Aziraphale was all too happy to oblige.

“Oh yes, yes, just like that you foul fiend!” he called without thinking.

Tragically, it made Crowley slow down and then stop. “What?” he asked blearily. “I know I'm no angel like you, but foul fiend seems a bit harsh.”

Aziraphale covered his face with his hands. “Of course. Very sorry. Just do continue, _please_!”

Thankfully that was enough for Crowley, who grunted and began moving again. It took a few minutes for them both to recover the moment, but soon they were at the height of passion once more.

“Angel. Oh Aziraphale, I'm not going to last much longer!” Crowley barely managed to get the words out between breaths.

“Don't hold back!” Aziraphale practically begged. He was so close now and he knew Crowley's release would put him over the edge.

Crowley moved faster now, nearly making Aziraphale fall over with his speed and ferocity. Aziraphale felt like he was being completely taken and he loved it. Then, with one final thrust, Crowley held still as he came, his legs shaking and his fingers digging into Aziraphale's hips.

Aziraphale let out a cry as it happened, and then his own orgasm overwhelmed him. It was bliss and it was heat and it was beautiful. In a few moments it was over, but Aziraphale felt himself still glowing from the aftereffects. He realized that he and Crowley had collapsed on the bed. Crowley was curling an arm around him and pulling him close like he was a giant teddy bear. 

“Was that good?” Crowley asked, still out of breath. “Did I give you what you wanted?”

Aziraphale shifted so that they were facing each other. Crowley looked so concerned. It made Aziraphale's heart melt. “You were perfect, my dear. You always are.”

“Really? Because this is only our second time. Kind of our first, depending on what your standards are...”

“Shh,” Aziraphale put a finger to Crowley's lips. “I meant for everything. You're always perfect to me.”

Crowley blinked, then shuffled his face under the covers. Aziraphale couldn't help chuckling. “You don't have to hide! It's just a simple compliment!”

He mumbled something from under the blanket.

“What was that, my darling?”

The new endearment made Crowley's forehead bright red. It was a moment before he recovered enough to pop his head up again. “I said it's not _just_ a compliment.” His words were harsh, like he was barely holding back his emotions. “You. You matter to me. Every smile, every touch, every kind word you say matters. You...make me feel happy, angel. You make me feel like no one else ever has. And you deserve to know that.”

Aziraphale stared. He'd never inspired such a romantic speech before. He was at a loss for words. “I...I do?”

“Well, I sure as hell wouldn't be saying it otherwise!” 

“Oh, Crowley!” Aziraphale threw his arms around him. “You mean the world to me too!”

It was true. Over the last few months the two had grown so close. Aziraphale longed for Crowley when he wasn't there, always looked for ways to make Crowley smile, and never felt as complete as when he was holding Crowley's hand.

And yet...neither of them had said that they loved each other. Maybe it was just that they weren't ready for it yet. But Aziraphale feared there was more to it than that. He knew himself quite well at this point. He knew that he was slow to trust people, and never completely. Not since he had left his family. What if he couldn't truly love anyone anymore? What if Crowley couldn't love him either?

If that was the case, then was there even any point to them being together?

The thought brought pain to Aziraphale's heart. He hoped he wasn't too broken for love. He hoped that Crowley wasn't either. They deserved to be happy, didn't they?

Aziraphale blinked back tears and pulled Crowley in for a kiss. When he moved back he said, “Stay with me tonight. I want to make breakfast with you in the morning.”

Crowley's beautiful eyes widened. “We'd have to get up pretty early for that. I have to watch Warlock tomorrow.”

“Well, if it's alright with you, I don't care if we have to get up before dawn.” Aziraphale squeezed his hand. “I just want to be with you.” 

The sentiment left Crowley speechless. He stared at Aziraphale, then kissed his hand.

It was quite a while before either of them went to sleep. It was worth getting up for breakfast anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These silly people have no idea how many ways there are to say "I love you".
> 
> Thank you again for reading! I'm sorry for the delay on this chapter. My work is starting up again and I won't be able to write as much daily anymore. But the work should be good for my mental health, so there's that!
> 
> Please leave some comments with your thoughts! I always love to hear from you guys!


	18. Dinner and a Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Valentine's Day! Just in time for everything to go wrong!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for homophobia, transphobia, and an ugly argument.

**Chapter 18**

Crowley's life was going well. He had an amazing boyfriend, a good kid in his life, and yoga sessions that were doubling as a support group. In fact, he even felt like some members of the class were becoming like friends.

At the start of his most recent session Tara had sat with him and chatted about life. She'd talked about getting into soap-making and he'd lamented being semi-closeted with the Dowlings.

“I think they have their suspicions that I'm not exactly straight, but it's very 'Don't ask, don't tell' with that lot,” he explained.

Tara nodded sympathetically. “Do you think they would fire you if they knew the truth?”

“I don't know for sure. I try not to test them. But it's getting harder now that I'm seeing Aziraphale whenever I can. Mr. Dowling doesn't like that I make plans for my time off now. It used to be they could give me Warlock whenever they felt like it. These days I'm taking more chances and saying no every now and then.” It was a risk that kept him up at night, but it was worth it to be with Aziraphale. His life had never felt so complete.

“Well, if it ever gets to a worst case scenario,” said Tara, “I'm sure Michael and her friends would be willing to host you. They've been absolutely wonderful to me.”

Crowley laughed. “It would be better than selling my car, anyway. But don't worry about me. I'm sure you have enough on your plate. And I'll be fine. Everything always works out for me eventually.”

“Lucky you. Maybe that means you've got someone on your side.” And she glanced significantly upwards.

Ugh. Crowley couldn't help but grimace. Over the last few weeks he'd noticed more and more references to God in the midst of the yoga sessions. They were always kind and meant to be reassuring, that sort of 'you're never alone' nonsense, but it made Crowley deeply uncomfortable. He didn't necessarily believe there was a God, but if there was he had a lot of bones to pick with Her. And She certainly wasn't on his side, for better or worse.

Perhaps Tara sensed his discomfort, because she tactfully moved on. “So, it's almost Valentine's Day! Are you and Aziraphale doing anything special?”

She nudged Crowley gently and he gave a small smile. He was surprisingly grateful for the teasing. He'd never had someone to poke fun at his love life before. It was nice.

“Nothing too fancy,” Crowley admitted. “We're going to have dinner at mine since the restaurants are all booked up and too expensive anyway.”

“Don't worry, I'm sure he'll love it. And speaking of love, do you think you'll finally be ready to break out those three little words with him?” Tara's voice had a teasing lilt to it, but her question made Crowley grow cold.

Love. It was the time of year for it, he supposed, but lately it seemed that everyone wanted to know his feelings on the subject. Mary was asking how serious his relationship was with increasing frequency. Warlock had asked if he would ever see the book man again. Even Madame Tracy kept asking questions about how compatible his and Aziraphale's astrological signs were.

The truth was, he had no idea what to tell any of them. Yes, he'd been with Aziraphale for months. Yes, they were officially boyfriends. And yes, Crowley hadn't felt this strongly about anyone for a long time. But...he couldn't say he was in love. That was too dangerous. Because who could truly love him without knowing what he was?

He wasn't falling in love. He was falling in fear. Because sooner or later Aziraphale was going to expect those “three little words” and when he did, one way or another, it was going to ruin everything.

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Aziraphale had to work until the evening of Valentine's Day, mostly selling last-minute cards and gifts, but he did it with a smile on his face. For the first time in his life he had a Valentine! And they were going to have a wonderful dinner date! He'd worn his favorite matching waistcoat and bow tie for the occasion.

In the meantime, he was also offering support to Newt, who was nervous about his own date with Anathema that night.

“We're just going to see a film. Are you sure it's not too forward to bring flowers? Where will she even put them?”

Aziraphale patted Newt on the shoulder reassuringly. “Then you can hold them for her while you're at the cinema, like a gentleman. You needn't worry so much. People love getting flowers. Anathema was quite pleased with the ones Crowley gave me recently and I...well I made sure he knew just how much I appreciated the gesture.”

Newt smiled and winked at him before going back to worrying. “But what if I get her a bouquet with ancient arcane significance?! It might insult her! Or make her want to cast a spell on me!”

“Ah.” Aziraphale managed not to roll his eyes. “Best stick with roses then, just to be safe.”

Then he glanced at the clock and grinned. His shift was over! Crowley would be here any minute! He hurried to collect his things.

When Aziraphale emerged from the back room, Crowley was waiting by the registers and having a chat with Newt.

“Roses? Nah, too cliché. Get her some lilies instead. White ones. She'll love it!”

Newt bit his lip. “Aren't those usually for funerals though?”

Crowley grinned, but held back his response when he saw Aziraphale approaching. He waved. “Hi there, angel. Are you ready to be swept off your feet?”

“Not if you're planning on starting with funeral lilies,” Aziraphale chided. He leaned in and gave Crowley a quick kiss on the lips. It was just a peck, but it was still enough to make his heart flutter. For his part, Crowley looked down and scratched his head bashfully.

Newt looked between the two of them and smiled. “So you're the mysterious Crowley! Aziraphale's been talking about you for weeks now!”

“Oh? Did he tell you I'm a 'foul fiend'? He seems to like that one,” Crowley said with a smirk.

Aziraphale pursed his lips. He had hoped Crowley would forget about that particular slip of the tongue. But no, it seemed he was doomed to be teased about it. He took Crowley's arm and quickly said good-bye to Newt. “Come along, _darling_. We want plenty of time to make dinner, don't we?”

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“Did you have trouble securing the night off, my dear?” Aziraphale asked as they shrugged off their coats in Crowley's flat. 

Crowley had meticulously cleaned the place in anticipation of tonight. He'd moved the coffee table in case they wanted to dance. The dining table was already laid out with a tablecloth and candles. Even the lasagna was prepped and ready to go into the oven. Crowley saw Aziraphale take it all in and then smile warmly at him. That was the moment it was all worth it.

“No, actually,” Crowley said with a shrug. “The Dowlings were surprisingly nice about it. They wished me a happy Valentine's Day and even gave me that weird teddy bear.”

He pointed out the bear, sitting on the television stand. It had alarmingly large eyes and clutched a huge heart that read “Love is Great!” It made Crowley wince just to look at it.

“Well...” Aziraphale paused, clearly looking for something positive to say about the thing. “At least the Dowlings are showing you a bit more kindness. Perhaps it's a good omen of things to come?”

In truth, Crowley was reluctant to be that optimistic. The Dowlings, Mr. Dowling in particular, were not the forgiving sort. He nodded noncommittally. “Maybe. It's possible they've finally moved on from the Incident.”

“Oh? What incident is that?”

Crowley sighed. “It was last summer, before I met you. The air con was broken in the main house and it was sweltering. So, I took Warlock over here to cool off. While I was making him lunch he wandered into my closet and found my Ashtoreth outfits. 

“He thought they were the most beautiful things he'd ever seen. You should have seen the way his face was all lit up when he came out. You would have thought I was his fairy godmother, taking him away to the ball. We played dress-up for hours that day.”

They were both quiet as Crowley put the lasagna in the oven. Then Aziraphale asked, “Did his parents find out about it, then?”

He nodded. “Warlock told them all about it. He was so proud. At first I thought it was fine too. Mrs. Dowling just seemed amused. But Mr. Dowling got angry. Very angry. It took a lot to talk him down.”

It had been the most frightened Crowley had been since leaving home. He'd snapped his fingers again and again, trying to force Mr. Dowling to calm down, but the most he'd been able to do was make the Dowlings not question why he had dresses in the first place. 

For the first time in a long time, Crowley had lamented how weak he was. If he had to be a demon, why did he have to be such a pathetic one? He could barely do anything compared to Dagon, Hatur, or Ligur, never mind the power that Beelzebub wielded. Then again, that weakness was probably the only reason they had let him escape to begin with.

Still, what was the point if Crowley couldn't even protect a child from his own bigoted father? Crowley had rarely felt so helpless.

“In the end we all got a good scare and I had to swear I'd never let Warlock dress up again. Even a Halloween costume was iffy. I was lucky just to keep my job.”

Aziraphale's lips were pressed in a thin line, hovering between anger and sorrow. “What a horrible man. And that poor child. He just wants to express himself and his father can't see past his own prejudices. It's a good thing Warlock has you in his life to help him. I see now why you really needed _Julián Is a Mermaid_.”

“And why I hide it under the kid's bed every night we read it!”

They laughed, not because the situation was funny, but because of how sad it was. When they stopped Crowley pulled Aziraphale in for a kiss. They paused there for a long moment, clinging to each other like they were in a lifeboat out at sea. 

Aziraphale pulled back and smiled. “How would you like to have your Valentine's Day present?”

They had agreed not to spend more than twenty pounds on each other, so Crowley knew not to expect anything big. Still, he was eager for any present from Aziraphale. He grinned and held out his hands. “Yeah, give it here!”

Aziraphale chuckled and pulled a small box out of his pocket. “Happy Valentine's Day, my dear.”

Crowley happily accepted the box and opened it. Inside there was a beautiful pin, made out of a green carnation. Crowley stared at in puzzlement. Yes it was lovely, but he wasn't sure if it had any deeper significance. Was it just because he liked plants?

“I got one for myself as well,” Aziraphale continued, pulling out a second, identical box. “Now we can be a matched pair the next time we go out together! If you like, that is. I don't know if you enjoy sending political messages with your attire while you're out on dates. But, well, I hope you like it.”

Oh, dear. He was looking at Crowley expectantly. Alright, he could work with that. Crowley removed his sunglasses and took both of Aziraphale's hands in his own. He stared into his boyfriend's eyes, trying to make his gaze as tender as he could.

“Angel...”

Aziraphale gulped. “Y-yes, Crowley?”

He leaned closer. “I...have no idea what green carnations mean.”

That startled a laugh out of Aziraphale, who looked suddenly all too relieved. “Oh, thank goodness. For a moment I thought you were going to say that you loved me!”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth Aziraphale's eyes popped as he realized what he had said. It was too late though. Crowley, who mere days ago had been worrying about ruining his relationship for the lack of love from himself, felt his heart breaking. Aziraphale didn't love him. Didn't want any love from him.

Oh, Satan below, this hurt. This hurt worse than...His thoughts were interrupted by Aziraphale's hand on his arm. He was looking at him with wide, pleading eyes. Crowley immediately put his sunglasses back on. 

“I didn't mean it like that, Crowley!” Aziraphale said desperately. “I mean, I did, but not...What you have to understand is...”

Then, before he could finish, there was a knock on the door. Well, actually it was more of a bang. It was the sort of noise someone made when they were only slightly concerned with social niceties. Also, when they were very, very angry. Crowley was torn between going to the door and continuing to feel the warmth of Aziraphale's hand. The choice was made for him when the door was unlocked from the other side. Mr. Dowling stood in the doorway and he looked livid. Crowley instinctively took a step back, putting himself between the fuming man and Aziraphale.

“Well, hello Thad,” Crowley said with more bravado than he felt. “What brings you over on this lovely evening?” Whatever it was, it obviously wasn't good. He felt like there was a metaphorical noose closing around his neck.

“What,” asked Mr. Dowling in a menacing tone, “is this?” And he held up a book. It was _Julián Is a Mermaid_.

Crowley immediately felt himself go pale. He felt ill. He did his best to hide it. “It looks like a children's book. Doesn't seem like much of a reason to break into my flat though. Are you—”

“Oh, don't bullshit me!” Mr. Dowling yelled with a toss of his head. “You bought my _son_ a book about deviants and cross-dressers!” He leveled his gaze at Aziraphale. “And I'm guessing this is the 'Book Man' you bought it from. The little boy-toy you've been sneaking into my house?”

Oh. Fuck. Crowley's mind whirled. Not only had Mr. Dowling found the book, he knew about the time Aziraphale had come over. Warlock had to have mentioned it, never dreaming how much trouble it would get Crowley into.

“Listen...” Crowley said, unsure of what he was even going to say, but he never got a chance to defend himself.

Mr. Dowling pointed an accusing finger at him and snarled. “And don't you try to deny it! I saw you two _kissing_ and laughing about converting my son to your lifestyle! I have it all recorded!”

With that, he picked up the teddy bear Mrs. Dowling had given Crowley earlier and shook it in his face. Crowley's jaw went slack, but only for a moment. His shock was soon replaced with and indignant anger.

“You were recording me? In my own flat?!”

Mr. Dowling didn't back down. “It's on my property! I can record whatever I want!”

“You narrow-minded, homophobic monster! I can't believe you would stoop to something like this!”

But that just provoked bitter laughter. “Oh, I'm a monster, am I? You have some nerve calling me names when I'm the one who had to go to these lengths to protect my family. I can't even imagine the harm you've done to my son. We may need to send him to military school after this!”

Crowley scowled darkly. “The harm _I've_ done? You have no idea what you're talking about. You don't know a _thing_ about Warlock. He's a bright and kind child who needs _love_ and _attention_, things you never see fit to give him. You just see him as an extension of yourself and your own ego. Well, he's not! He's his own brilliant person! And yes, he likes to wear dresses! He might not even be a boy! You'd better get used to that fast if you don't want a child who grows up hating you!”

Mr. Dowling looked almost purple with rage. For a moment Crowley even worried he was about to get punched in the face. But no, Mr. Dowling was too careful for that. As obvious as his bigotry was, he'd avoided saying that the problem was Crowley was gay. Instead it was all about rules Crowley had broken and him trying to “convert” Warlock. Even now the teddy bear camera was still rolling. Mr. Dowling wasn't going to let it become evidence against him.

So instead of the punch Crowley had expected, he got a harsh jab from Mr. Dowling's finger to the center of his chest. “Pack your bags, Crowley,” Mr. Dowling said in a menacing whisper. “You're through. You're never coming near my family ever again. I expect you to be out of here within the hour.”

Crowley stood frozen as it sank in. This was it. The moment he had been fearing and expecting for months. He was fired. And, while he still felt infuriated by the injustice of it all, a part of him felt surprisingly free. Maybe he could survive this after all.

“Fine!” Crowley spat out from clenched teeth. “But I'm saying good-bye to Warlock first. He deserves to know it's not his fault the only proper guardian he's got is leaving.”

Crowley moved toward the doorway, but Mr. Dowling immediately grabbed him by the arm. “Did you not hear me?” Mr. Dowling growled. “I said you're never coming near my family again. You don't _get_ any good-byes!”

The words hit Crowley like a blow. He imagined never being able to see Warlock again, the child he had raised and loved for three years. He imagined Warlock never seeing _him_ again, left with only pain and questions that his parents would refuse to answer. What lies would they say about Crowley? That he was a bad man? That he had hurt Warlock? Maybe even that he had _wanted_ to go and had chosen not to say good-bye?

“Crowley...” said a soft voice. Crowley turned and saw Aziraphale looking wide-eyed and helpless. He reached out a hand for Crowley, but stopped upon seeing the disgusted sneer on Mr. Dowling's face. Instead he clasped his hands in front of him and looked down in shame.

Something snapped inside Crowley. This was wrong, all wrong. Aziraphale shouldn't be feeling ashamed. Crowley shouldn't be being flung out of Warlock's life. And yet it was happening all because of one petty, small-minded man. He was so insignificant in the scheme of things. So tiny and...human. He had no idea what he was dealing with.

Well, Crowley was just going to have to teach him a lesson, wasn't he?

Mr. Dowling was still gripping Crowley's arm, tight enough to hurt and prove his manliness. Crowley shoved him back, fast and hard. Mr. Dowling stumbled backwards until he hit the wall, looking stunned.

Then Crowley pulled off his sunglasses. In the three years Crowley had worked for them, the Dowlings had rarely seen him without them and certainly never with his proper eyes. Now his eyes were on full display, practically glowing with the level of power and menace he was drawing on. Crowley had never known himself to be this furious in all his life.

“Now you listen to me, Dowling,” he said harshly. “There is _nothing_ that you can do that would keep me away from Warlock and making sure he lives a happy and healthy life in whatever way he chooses.”

“You...you can't just...” Mr. Dowling spluttered.

Crowley grabbed him by his shirt front and held him so they were practically nose to nose. “I can do whatever I want! You think I'm a monster because I'm gay, but I'm much worse than that! I was _born_ a monster! And no little man like you is going to keep me from what I want! So you can forget about sending Warlock to military school and you can forget about keeping me away from him! Do you underssssstand?”

Mr. Dowling looked wide-eyed and full of fear. His mouth moved without saying anything for several seconds before Crowley shook him impatiently. Then he managed to stammer out, “I-I understand!”

“Good.” Crowley let go and Mr. Dowling nearly fell down. “Now get out of my sssight!” he hissed.

Pale and trembling, Mr. Dowling hurried out the door without a second glance, maybe to hide somewhere, maybe to call the police. Crowley knew he couldn't wait long if he wanted to see Warlock before he left. There was some satisfaction that came with finally telling Dowling off, but Crowley still felt a bit sick inside. He had used his powers to terrify a human into doing what he wanted. Just like he had always been trained to do. Maybe he was a monster after all.

Suddenly there was a loud beep that echoed throughout the flat. It was the oven timer. The lasagna was done. Crowley blinked as he remembered the date and the romantic dinner he'd been planning on. He turned to Aziraphale and let out a deep sigh.

“I'm sorry about all that. It looks like our Valentine's Day has been pretty thoroughly ruined. I understand if you...Aziraphale?”

His boyfriend was staring at him in absolute shock, bordering on terror.

Crowley realized with a sense of dread that not only had Aziraphale seen everything that had just transpired, but he must have felt the miraculous waves of fear Crowley had been forcing on Mr. Dowling.

“Oh no, no,” muttered Crowley. He hurried to Aziraphale's side and then hovered there uselessly. He didn't know how to reverse the effects of his powers and, even if he did, he didn't want to expose Aziraphale to any more dark miracles if he could help it. He'd never wanted his supernatural abilities to touch any part of what they had together.

“Talk to me, angel! It's alright. I promise nothing bad is going to happen to you. I'm here and you're safe.” Crowley reached out to touch Aziraphale's shoulder, but Aziraphale flinched away before Crowley could make contact. The motion seemed to awaken Aziraphale from his daze. He took a shaky breath and stepped away from Crowley, notably towards the door.

“I-I can't...How did you...” Aziraphale closed his eyes and looked pained. He was breathing very fast, like he had during his panic attack at the cabaret. “I'm sorry. I have to go. I can't be here any longer.”

He rushed for the door while Crowley stared stupidly after him. In a moment he was gone and Crowley was left feeling more alone than he'd ever felt in his life. He remembered what Aziraphale had said right before Mr. Dowling had arrived to ruin Crowley's life. Aziraphale had been afraid that Crowley would confess to loving him. Like that would be an unpleasant thing to have happen, like Crowley's heart was an ugly sweater to offer perfunctory thanks for and then leave in the back of a closet.

Aziraphale hadn't loved him before his angry outburst and he certainly didn't now. More than that, he had no desire to love him. And it was only through learning this, right before losing his home, his job, and the child he adored, that Crowley realized just how much he did love Aziraphale. Just in time to have his heart shattered. 

What in the world was he going to do now?

Crowley stood frozen for a long time, aching too much to even cry. Then at last he pulled out his mobile and dialed a number he had hoped he would never have a reason to call. 

“Hi, Michael? Something's happened. I'm going to need a place to stay for a bit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this has been a while coming but our favorite pair was due for some angst! I promise this story will have a happy ending, but it may be a while before we get there. In the meantime, I really appreciate all of your comments and kudos. They really encourage me to write faster and better!
> 
> Thank you all for reading!


	19. Hissy Fit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale is full of guilt. Crowley is starting to realize just how much trouble he's in.

**Chapter 19**

Aziraphale was a terrible person.

He hadn't spoken to Crowley for a week. He'd ignored numerous calls and texts and overall he'd done his best to pretend that Crowley had never existed.

The guilt was killing him.

Aziraphale's conscience was constantly tormenting him. He'd stood there while Crowley lost everything and then he'd just run away. What was wrong with him? How could he be so heartless? 

In truth, it wasn't much of a question. Aziraphale knew what the problem was. It was the same problem he'd faced all his life: he was scared. In the past he'd been controlled by his fears; his fear of hell, fear of change, fear of authority, fear of the Hosts. Now he consumed by a fear of Crowley.

It was ridiculous. He'd simply seen Crowley yell at someone a bit under perfectly reasonable circumstances and now he was too frightened to even talk to him, the man he had been dating for four months!

Crowley had had every right to be angry, even furious. Aziraphale had been right in his corner, if silent, throughout most of the confrontation. How dare the Dowlings sneak a spy camera into Crowley's flat? But then Crowley had started yelling back...

Aziraphale shuddered just thinking about it.

And it was more than just his words. It was the way he said them. With such menace, such power, like there was really nothing in the world that could be denied to him. It seemed almost unnatural. For some reason it reminded Aziraphale of Gabriel.

That was absurd of course. Crowley was a good person. He wasn't a manipulative liar like Gabriel was. He would never hurt Aziraphale...he hoped.

In any case, Aziraphale knew he couldn't just keep avoiding Crowley forever. He was bound to show up at the bookstore if Aziraphale kept this up and he definitely didn't want to deal with a face-to-face encounter that he wasn't prepared for. No, there was nothing else for it. Aziraphale took a deep breath and reached for his mobile.

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It was past noon, but it didn't matter. Crowley was still asleep. Well, half-asleep. He was awake enough to know that he wanted to keep sleeping. He wasn't ready to face the hard realities of the waking world. Not that his dreams were much better.

_“I'm sorry, Warlock. I have to leave. We may not see each other for a long time.”_

_“Why?”_

_“I...I have another family I need to go to. They have kids who need my help.”_

_“But I need your help! No one is nice to me like you are, Nanny. Please don't go! I love you!”_

_“I love you too. I'm sorry. I wish...I mean, I can't stay.”_

_“...Is it my fault? Did I do something bad?”_

_“No! Not at all! Warlock, you're perfect. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise. It's just your parents...I mean...Argh! Why is this so hard?! No, no! Please don't cry! Now I'm going to start...”_

_“Will I see you for my birthday? You don't have to give me a present. I just want to see you!”_

_“I don't know. I want to. You have no idea how much I want to. I just....Oh, Satan, I can't do this. I'm so sorry, Warlock. You deserve so much better than this. Please, can I give you a hug?”_

_“No! You...You're being mean! I said I love you, that means you can't go! I don't want to hug a meanie!” _

_“...Alright. That-that's fair. I...Where's that stuffed monkey I bought you?”_

_“Melissa?”_

_“Right. Here she is. I know you love Melissa, right? Well, I'm going to tell you a secret. Melissa here is a little magic. Every time you hug her it's going to be like you're hugging me. If-if you need that. Later on.”_

_“You'll feel the hugs?”_

_“Every time.”_

Crowley rolled over in bed. His knees pressed toward his chest as though they could protect him from all his pain. He felt tears worm their way out from behind his closed eyes. His semi-sleeping wasn't helping. He just kept moving from one set of awful memories to another. Leaving Warlock. Frightening Aziraphale. Dowling confronting him. Aziraphale saying he didn't love him. It was a fresh stab to his heart just to list them. He whimpered. He could allow himself that much. He was alone right now.

But perhaps not for long. Crowley heard the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. It was too much to hope that they would pass by his door. Sure enough, seconds later Crowley heard a gentle knock. He hurried to sit up, wipe his eyes, and throw on his sunglasses. Then he put in an extra effort to make sure his voice would sound normal.

“Come in,” he called. 

Michael opened the door, was still for a moment upon seeing Crowley was still in bed, then smiled comfortingly. “Another hard day so far, then?”

“Um. Yeah. I suppose. Sorry I'm not up at dawn or whenever like the rest of you. Is that when you like to do your pre-breakfast praying?” Crowley tried not to sound snippy. He owed Michael and her church friends a lot. He did not entirely succeed. 

Still, Michael seemed to take his barbs in stride. She kept smiling and sat down on the edge of the bed. “I know you're in a lot of pain right now, Anthony. It's alright to be honest about that. I am becoming concerned though. Have none of your friends really reached out to you to help you through these difficult times? It sounds as though you don't have a very helpful support network.”

Crowley looked away. “I, uh, I haven't told anyone about what happened yet. I've still just been working on processing everything, you know?” Besides, why would anyone at the cabaret want to talk to him? He barely spent any time there outside of shows and rehearsals because he'd been so busy nannying. “It's just a lot. You know. Losing your job and your boyfriend in one go.”

He had been reluctant to explain his situation fully when he arrived at Michael's doorstep a week ago, but as the days went by it began to look more and more like he was there for a long stay. Certainly, if he couldn't even get out of bed most days. At that point he felt he owed Michael an explanation. She had been nothing but kind and patient with him, hosting him at her church's surprisingly large country home. Then one night she offered him to share a bottle of wine with him and (almost) the entire story came tumbling out.

“Are you really sure Aziraphale doesn't want anything more to do with you?” she asked gently. It wasn't the first time she had asked. Crowley figured she probably wanted her guest room back and was hoping that Aziraphale would take him in. 

“Yeah,” Crowley replied morosely. “I've tried calling. I've sent him dozens of messages apologizing for scaring him. I've done everything short of cornering him at work, and I'm not quite enough of a bastard to do that. Not yet anyway.”

Michael's next words were delicate. “Have you tried telling him where you are? You are of course welcome to stay here for as long as you need to, but perhaps dear Aziraphale would be more compelled to speak with you if he knew that you were staying with some 'weirdo religious types'.”

Despite himself Crowley smirked. He appreciated Michael's ability to be self-aware and make jokes to make Crowley more comfortable. In the days that he'd been at her home, Crowley hadn't left his room very much, but when he had he'd noticed just how friendly and kind everyone was. They also all seemed like privileged rich types so he had been wary, but everyone seemed eager to be his friend. He had barely heard any God talk at all.

Still, a bit of kindness didn't seem to be enough to pull him out of his state of depression. Crowley hung his head again as his thoughts went back to Aziraphale. “I don't think there's anything I can say that would make him change his mind about me at this point. You weren't there. When I yelled at Dowling I was...a bit of monster. I really let myself go. I don't think anyone should have to see that side of me, let alone the man I...care about.”

“You can say that you love him, Anthony,” Michael said encouragingly. “You're among true friends here. You don't need to censor yourself, whether you feel full of anger or full of love.” 

Crowley let out a derisive chuckle. She had no idea what she was talking about. “I don't have friends. Not anymore. And I just lost my best friend.” He looked down and away.

Michael reached out and cupped his cheek, turning him to face her. He didn't like it. He didn't want anyone touching him right now. He felt raw and vulnerable and no one had the right to show him this condescending compassion. He jerked away.

But Michael wasn't deterred. “You don't have to be afraid, Anthony. Not here.”

Then, to Crowley's shock, she pulled off his sunglasses. 

His eyes went wide with shock before he had the sense to turn away, before he could even think about using his powers to make them look normal. He waited for her to scream or at least go pale in shock. Michael did neither of those things. She continued to smile benevolently, like there was nothing in the world that could disturb her serenity. 

“There,” Michael said with satisfaction. “I thought you might be hiding something like this. Now, don't fret. I'm not here to hurt you. You'll find that there is room for all in God's heart, even demons.”

That was the point where Crowley truly froze. It was one thing for someone to see his eyes, even for them to take the news that he had snake pupils in stride. It was something else entirely for a human to make the leap to him being a demon. In his experience, humans tended to deny the truth even when it was right in their faces. Michael was clearly different, but how different?

“Who...” Crowley paused and re-framed the question. “What are you?” There. It wasn't admitting he was a demon, but it was close enough.

He didn't like the way Michael grinned at that question, like a cat who had finally cornered a mouse. He didn't like the way he most certainly _felt_ like a mouse all of a sudden. People were supposed to be afraid of demons. Why wasn't she?

“I think,” Michael said with restrained calm, “that it's time that you met Gabriel.” 

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If Crowley hadn't already been feeling apprehensive when he walked into Gabriel's office his anxiety would have still gone through the roof when he saw the man. Gabriel was a handsome, distinguished-looking man somewhere in his forties. He wore a sharp grey suit and an even sharper smile. Crowley immediately didn't trust him. He looked too perfect, too put-together. Plus there was something nagging in the back of Crowley's mind that was making alarm bells go off.

Then, of course, there was also the fact that Gabriel greeted Crowley from an honest-to-goodness throne.

"Well, hello!" said Gabriel in a pleasant, if booming, voice. "You must be the poor Anthony we've taken in!"

"Anthony lost his job as well as his home recently," explained Michael. "He believes he may have even lost the love of his boyfriend, a man named Aziraphale."

Gabriel pursed his lips and nodded sympathetically, but the expression still seemed fake, like he had practiced making that face in the mirror. Crowley also didn't like the way they kept using his name. It felt like they were expressing some kind of ownership over him. But they didn't even know him. If they did they would be calling him Crowley. Or maybe monster.

On that note, he still wasn't wearing his sunglasses. Gabriel was looking into his eyes without concern, perhaps even with satisfaction. “I imagine you must have some questions at this point,” he said with the practiced air of someone who has rehearsed a speech a number of times. “You see we...”

“What the bloody hell is going on here?!” Crowley exclaimed, no longer able to contain himself. “What kind of a church is this? Why aren't you scared of me?”

Gabriel's smile froze in place, just for a moment, but it was enough to make Crowley shiver. He suddenly had the distinct impression that Gabriel was not the sort of man who was interrupted often, and he didn't like it.

“All in good time, Anthony,” Gabriel said, as chipper as ever. “Now...”

This time he was interrupted by a knock at the door. Crowley flinched, not because of the knock but because he was already instinctively afraid of what might happen if Gabriel lost his temper. To his surprise, Gabriel just smiled. Maybe he was more in control than Crowley had thought.

Or maybe he had seen the flinch.

“Come in!” Gabriel called, and the door behind Crowley and Michael opened. As it did, Crowley noticed that Michael was more behind him than next to him. She and Gabriel were flanking him. 

Then, of all people, Shadwell came in. He still looked as shabby as ever, but the look was contrasted by the large grin on his face. He spared Crowley a brief, surprised glance then focused his attention on Gabriel. 

“Good news from the front. I think we've finally got a lead on our missing witch! I, that is, my team and I used our specialized witch-finding tools to narrow their location down to a certain bookstore in London. Now all we need to do is lay a trap and...”

“Yes, yes,” Gabriel said briskly. “I'm sure your team will be more than up for the job. Do you have anything to report about the, ah, opposition? Do they know what we're up to?”

Shadwell's grin shrank and he let out a sigh. “Nay. They don't suspect a thing, Mr. Gabriel. But about this witch...”

Gabriel held up a hand. “I'm sure we can discuss all that in good time. For now you've done your work splendidly and I need to get back to mine.” He gestured significantly towards Crowley.

Shadwell looked like he had a great deal more he wanted to say, likely about witches, but then he caught Crowley's eyes. He did a double-take then hurried out of the room. Gabriel chuckled as he left. He still looked annoyingly in-charge and self-assured from where he sat and Crowley wondered if that was a confidence Gabriel always radiated or if it was just thanks to the fact that he hadn't left his literal throne yet. Crowley made a mental note to get a throne of his own at some point if they were always this intimidating. Maybe that one in particular if Gabriel would ever get his arse out of it. 

Still, Crowley didn't want to show his fear. That never ended well in his experience. Instead he walked up to Gabriel and slammed his hands down on Gabriel's ridiculously fancy-looking marble desk. 

“Alright,” Crowley snarled, “just what is going on here?”

“We're here to help you, Anthony,” Gabriel said calmly. 

Crowley scoffed. "What, are you going to get me a new job? A home? A boyfriend?"

But that just made Gabriel laugh as though Crowley were genuinely funny. "A job and a home are no problem. And we could probably arrange a boyfriend if that's really what you want. In fact, that could even be our first step." He and Michael exchanged a knowing look that Crowley didn't like at all. "Before that though, we need to talk about you. You're different, aren't you Anthony? You always have been, I'm guessing."

Gabriel stood and Crowley felt a chill as though the air around him had abruptly gotten colder. His heart started to race as Gabriel got closer.

"You have no idea who your parents are. You grew up without any real support or kindness in your life. You can do things that seem unnatural. You frighten people who don't understand you. You were born with eyes that repulse those around you, but you can change them at will if you concentrate. And," Gabriel looked Crowley right in the eyes, "you are terrified you're going to spend the rest of your life alone."

With every word Gabriel said, Crowley found it harder to breathe. How did he know these things about him? Then, with his last point, Crowley actually took a step back. Satan below, how did the man know his deepest fear? Crowley took a careful, shaky breath then asked the same question Michael had never answered.

"What are you?"

And Gabriel grinned. "I'm a friend, Anthony. But more than that, I'm the gateway to the answers to all your prayers."

The lights in the room grew darker and in the dimness it was clear that Gabriel had started to glow. He stepped closer to Crowley and seemed to get taller. But then Crowley glanced down and saw that he was being silly. Gabriel wasn't any taller. He was just hovering above the ground. 

Crowley felt overwhelmed. Disbelief and even fear battled inside him. He'd never known anyone outside his family to have abilities like these. And Gabriel wasn't a demon. Crowley would have sensed that. He would have grown up knowing about him if that were the case. No, this was something else, something he would have assumed was impossible. 

“Are-Are you...” Crowley spluttered. “You can't be...”

“That's right,” Gabriel said with a triumphant grin. “We're angels, Anthony.”

The words echoed through Crowley, leaving him shaken and detached. Angels. How could there be angels? How could he have lived his whole life in the realms of dark and evil and not known there was truly an other side? Did this mean...was it possible he had an actual chance at redemption if they were calling themselves his friends?

He started breathing harder. This was so much. It felt dangerous, treacherous. After all he'd done...No. It was wrong to hope. Unforgivable, that's what he was. Still, he couldn't stop his heart from hammering.

“Alight,” he said with a calm swagger he didn't feel. “So you're angels. And Michael made it clear you know what I am too. How's about we cut out the pleasantries and get to the point then? What do you want with me?”

“Nothing at all,” Gabriel said with a reassuring air that Crowley didn't dare to trust. “Angels are creatures of goodness and love. We only want to help you. To begin with, we want your heart to feel whole again. If you'll let us, we'd be happy to help you win back your dear Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale. Was it possible? Could these unearthly creatures really want to help him earn Aziraphale's love? Crowley was a tangled ball of emotions at the thought. People so rarely helped him and these people in particular were supposed to be messengers of God Herself. It made him feel so small, so vulnerable, like he should be on his knees praying at this very moment. 

Still, his mind went back and forth. Something was wrong. He shouldn't trust so easily. Why was Michael still behind him? Why were they both watching him expectantly? Why was he barely holding back tears now?

It felt like everything could be so easy if he just accepted Gabriel's outstretched hand. He was holding it out for him now, like a simple and honest offer. Gabriel was still smiling, but the smile was looking more and more strained as Crowley stood silent, agonizing over what he wanted to say, to do. Gabriel was emitting an aura of warmth. Crowley could step into that warmth and be safe, maybe forever. Wouldn't that be nice, to know what safety felt like? All he had to do was take that hand.

“Go on,” Gabriel said encouragingly. “Step into Her light. God is waiting for you.”

Wait. Her? Gabriel was referring to God as Her? That was a habit that Crowley had fallen into lately, but he had picked it up from Aziraphale, who had learned it from...

“Wait a minute!” Crowley recoiled suddenly from Gabriel and practically slammed into Michael behind him. “You-You're the Gabriel Aziraphale ran away from, aren't you? You're the leader of the, what was it, the Hosts of the Higher Power? That bollocks? Aziraphale told me about you! You're just using a bunch of special effects, aren't you!”

Crowley looked around and took everything in with fresh eyes. The dim lights, the glowing, even the floating could all be simple tricks. The lights had obviously been dimmed. The glowing could come from small lights hidden in Gabriel's suit. There had to be wires carrying him the foot or so he was off the ground. Crowley noticed there was a mirror in the corner. He laughed, walked up to the mirror, and knocked on it. 

"Hello in there!" he called. He turned back to Gabriel, who was looking far less than pleased. "That's how you do it, right? You've got someone manning some controls on the other side of a two-way mirror. That's cute. I bet Michael was even giving them signals from behind my back!"

For all his humor, Crowley's deduction still stung him. He'd trusted Michael. Sure, he'd known she was a religious enthusiast, but she'd always seemed to genuinely care about him too. And then there had been the brief, flickering hope Gabriel had kindled in him. 

No. He wasn't going to think about that. Now Crowley realized that this had never been about him. It was about being bait for Aziraphale, just like his university boyfriend had been! 

“So you're still obsessed with Aziraphale after all these years,” Crowley said dryly. “I hate to break it to you, but he's just not into you. Frankly, I think he'd be disappointed in you lot. You already tried the 'woo him back through the boyfriend' technique. It didn't work ten years ago and it won't work now. I'm certainly no more special than Claude was.”

It made him feel sick to admit it, but there it was. Claude was at least Aziraphale's first love. Crowley didn't even have the distinction of being fifth or dozenth or whatever love. He wasn't anyone's love at all. Suddenly Crowley felt very tired. He turned to leave the room. After all, he needed to pack his things and be prepared to live in his car for a bit or something. But when he glanced up, he saw that Michael was standing in his way, still radiating warmth and giving him that alarmingly kind smile of hers. “You misunderstand us, Anthony. Alright, I'll admit we've been trying to find a way to reconnect with Aziraphale, but that's not why we've given you a home to recover in for the last week. No, we've been very interested in _you_.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Come on, Michael. You're not going to convince me you're legitimate now. Aziraphale told me all about you. You're a bunch of manipulative gits who run a cult. I'm not going to fall for your oh-so-wholesome bait.”

“Then why aren't you wondering why we know you're a demon?”

That did make Crowley pause. He took a step to the side and turned so he could both Michael and Gabriel at once. They were both smiling. He was starting to hate that self-assured smile they were both so good at. It had to have come from years of manipulating people. Just like they were trying to do to him now. 

“I don't know,” Crowley admitted. “But if you know that much, you should know to be afraid of me.”

Irritatingly, neither of them looked afraid. Instead Michael continued to block the door and Gabriel took a step closer to him. “I don't think you understand, Anthony.”

And that was it. Crowley snapped. Did they think being a demon just meant having some unusual eyes? He might not be that powerful, but he had more than enough tricks up his sleeve to deal with idiots like these. Suddenly, Crowley began to change.

Shifting was never the easiest thing for him. Organs rearranged. Bones disappeared and reformed. It all seemed like it should be incredibly painful, but instead it was just disgusting. Normally Crowley hated it. Today he reveled in being able to repulse his audience as he transformed inch by inch into an enormous black snake. 

Soon he was towering over Michael and Gabriel, hissing in the most threatening way he knew how. He only wished he had a rattle to complete the look.

But the transformation took a lot of attention, as did properly looming. It wasn't until he was done that he looked toward the doorway again and saw the door was open. 

“...Crowley?”

Standing there was a terrified-looking Aziraphale. And he was raising a sword.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! I'm sorry this chapter took long to finish. I've been writing at a slow but steady pace lately. But, as always, I deeply encouraged by all of your comments and kudos! Thank you for the responses you give and for letting me know what you enjoy! You're always so much fun to hear from! 
> 
> I'm also on tumblr under comicgeekery if you'd like to say hi!


	20. Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale meets with Crowley again! ...and also with some family members he'd really rather not see again. It's time for him to decide where his loyalties lie. Or he might just panic and save the thinking for later. That works too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long since my last update! I moved last month and my writing has been going very slowly. But! I have the next two chapters plotted out so hopefully they'll come out a bit faster. If you need a reminder, last chapter Crowley figured out he'd been captured by Aziraphale's old cult after potentially being dumped. In an effort to scare Michael and Gabriel away, Crowley turned into a giant snake...just as Aziraphale was coming to his rescue. Now we'll get Aziraphale's perspective on it all!

**Chapter Twenty**

There had been twenty text messages waiting for Aziraphale when he finally looked at his mobile. The first messages tried to be casual then grew steadily more vulnerable.

**C: Sorry about yesterday. Not exactly what I'd planned for a nice Valentine's Day.**

**C: Are you free later? Maybe we could talk? I've got nothing but time now!**

**C: Sorry. Didn't mean to be glib. I just want to talk to you. I know things got kind of awkward before. When you left.**

**C: Not that it's a problem that you left! I completely understand. Things got tense and maybe a bit scary.**

**C: Aziraphale. I'm sorry if I scared you. I know I can be frightening when I get angry, but I never meant to scare you of all people. Please just talk to me.**

**C: Please don't tell me this is the end.**

It all left Aziraphale feeling like even more of a horrible person. How could he have put Crowley through so much pain and doubt?

But it was the next message that made him want to scream.

**C: So, no pressure or anything, but if you want to call me I'm at a place with poor reception. I'm with Michael, the lady who runs that yoga class I've been going to, at her big old country place. I guess it's some kind of religious retreat for people who can afford that sort of thing. I'm just trying to get my bearings right now. Just send me an e-mail if you want to get in touch. I'm sorry to be so needy. I just miss you, angel.**

A big country place. A religious retreat. But, more than anything else, a woman named _Michael_. Aziraphale hunched over as he felt bile rise in his throat. It was them. It was the Hosts. It had to be. They had made their move and they had gone after Crowley.

No. No, no, no! He couldn't do this. He couldn't let this happen again! Regardless of the complicated feelings he had for Crowley right now, Aziraphale still knew he wouldn't let another innocent soul be consumed by that cult. Not while he could still be saved!

Then, while he was reading, another message appeared. This one came from a number he didn't recognize.

**You remember the way home, don't you? He's waiting for you.**

Aziraphale gulped, his stomach dropping to his toes. Who had the message come from? Gabriel? One of his underlings? It didn't matter. They clearly had his number in more ways than one. This was just the sort of move Aziraphale had been dreading since that letter months ago. Right around the time he met Crowley.

God above. Had they been watching him all this time? Waiting for him to grow attached, to grow vulnerable? Aziraphale's heart ached. Now Crowley was in danger and it was all his fault.

For a moment the guilt Aziraphale felt was paralyzing. His mind ran from one wild idea to the next. What if Crowley was just a plant? Someone intended to lure him in from the beginning? No, the Hosts wouldn't trust someone who worked at a cabaret, would they?

What if he called the police and let them take care of rescuing Crowley? Aziraphale would simply, what, tell them Crowley had been kidnapped? He had no proof to suggest that. In fact, everything pointed to Crowley being at the church of his own free will. Besides, the Hosts had so much money and so much power. They'd make sure Aziraphale was the one punished if the police were involved. 

Oh dear, what was he going to do?

Then, as he fretted, Aziraphale noticed he'd been moving without realizing it. He was going through his closet, mostly filled with books, and his hand had just wrapped around cool, familiar metal.

It was the sword. Of course it was. Of course he had gone to this old relic the moment his past had caught up with him. Aziraphale had stolen it years ago when he had left the Hosts of the Higher Power behind.

He'd been running, clutching at the few things he'd dared to pack, terrified of being caught, terrified of being _punished_. But, more than feeling fear, Aziraphale had felt so _angry_. His entire life was a lie! How dare Gabriel trick his loyal followers like that?

When Aziraphale was a young altar boy, Raphael had trusted him with many things. That included the combination to the safe that housed some of the Hosts' most sacred relics. How could he ever forget that code? It was his birthday. Raphael had winked when she told him about it. He used to think that was a sign that he was special, that she saw great things for his future. Now it just seemed like a painful joke.

In the safe there were a number of items, most of which Aziraphale didn't know the true purpose of. There was an ugly, surprisingly smelly crown, a black set of scales, a sword, and a book. Aziraphale knew that book. He'd never so much as touched it, but he'd dreamed of it countless times. Raphael used to say it held all the secrets of the world. She used to consult it to find the wisdom to guide the whole church.

That day, when Aziraphale's whole world was crumbling, he wanted to take that book. It wouldn't matter if it held great secrets or not. He just wanted to hurt the Hosts like they had hurt him. He reached out to it, ready to show it harm he would never dream of demonstrating on another book.

But then...he couldn't. Nothing happened, he just stopped reaching for it. Aziraphale wanted to cry. Even now that he was so painfully disillusioned, he couldn't bring himself to hurt those members of the church that still believed.

So instead he took the sword. It was old, it was probably valuable, and he'd never felt it had a place in his church. The Hosts were supposed to be a kind force for good. They didn't need a sword. Taking it would send just the message he wanted.

At least, that had been what Aziraphale had thought back then. Now, standing in his closet with his hand around a dusty hilt, he didn't feel his former spite. All he felt was cold and lonely. What if they had never wanted him back after all? What if the Hosts of the Higher Power only cared about getting back their lost treasure?

Well, one way or another, Aziraphale was going to give it to them.

He let out a deep breath, squared his shoulders, then called for an Uber.

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He arrived just in time to have his mind utterly shattered. Crowley was with the Hosts alright. And he was a snake. Literally. He had transformed, slowly and openly, into a man-sized serpent. Right in front of Aziraphale.

_Oh,_ Aziraphale thought as he began to get light-headed. _It's a good thing I'm not the fainting sort. That would be dreadfully embarrassing right now._ Then again, unconsciousness sounded infinitely preferable to facing reality. He swayed as his body considered its options.

An all-too-familiar smug voice cut through his thoughts. “Aziraphale! So glad you could finally make it. Feels like we've been waiting on you for years!” And Gabriel chuckled, the sound of a man who'd always known he'd get his way, even if he'd had to wait a decade for it.

Well, at least some things never changed. Aziraphale still hated the sound of Gabriel's voice. Unsure what he was doing, but wanting to make a point, Aziraphale raised his sword in Gabriel's direction. He used the sternest tone he could manage, though it still had a wobble to it. “Change him back!”

Gabriel raised his eyebrows, both at the sword and at the command. Then he focused on the sword again. “Say, isn't that ours? I was wondering where that old thing had got to.”

“I...I...” Aziraphale stammered. “I suppose. I just...I took...I'm sor—That is...Now look here! You've turned my boyfriend into a snake and I must insist that you change him back immediately!”

And his heart sank as Gabriel grinned back at him. “Well, that's progress. Here I thought you were going to accuse us of being frauds.”

That smile. It was horrible. Somehow it made tears well up in Aziraphale's eyes. It was a smile that said “I've already won.” A large part of Aziraphale was inclined to agree. Even after all these years it was so easy to fall back on old habits and assume Gabriel was right about everything. 

But he wasn't. Aziraphale still remembered what he had seen that night he ran away. He tightened his grip on the sword and spoke even though his voice shook. “You _are_ frauds! I saw your harness when you pretended to fly! You're...You're just the head of some fancy cult, trying to cheat people out of their money or give you power or—”

Gabriel held up a hand and Aziraphale stopped speaking immediately. In that instant he wasn't sure if it was just his conditioning again or something more. Either way, Gabriel gave him another awful, satisfied smirk. 

“So, if I'm so fake,” Gabriel said slowly, “what exactly just happened to your dear Anthony?”

There could only be one answer. There had to be. “It's another trick!” Aziraphale insisted. “You've hidden Crowley away someplace and...” He reached out to touch the snake to see if it was even real. That was when the snake first looked directly at him.

Aziraphale had seen Crowley's skin literally melt into scales, but somehow it was the eyes that did it. There was no mistaking those eyes. Crowley had even called them snake eyes once, hadn't he?

Suddenly there was a hand on Aziraphale's shoulder. He jumped as he realized Gabriel had walked up behind him. “The Hosts have been looking out for you, Aziraphale, even in your self-imposed exile. We knew we had to intervene when we realized an actual demon was after your soul. I'm so glad you came back in time to learn the truth.”

A demon? 

Aziraphale's mouth opened, but no words came out.

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Crowley...was not having the best day. Turning into a snake was usually his best party trick, guaranteed to shut up the few people he used it against (as long as they weren't family, that is). But today Crowley was beginning to feel rather played. Why weren't Gabriel and Michael afraid of him? Why did it seem like they'd been expecting him to transform? And had Aziraphale's timing really been a coincidence? 

These were all questions Crowley was considering in the back of his mind. But what occupied his attention the most was the possessive way Gabriel was still holding Aziraphale's shoulder. _That_ was enough to make Crowley's blood boil.

And now, to top it off, Gabriel was trying to convince Aziraphale that Crowley was a demon! Which, to be fair, he was. But that was really the sort of information one likes to convey on one's own. Delicately. Or possibly never. And he certainly wasn't after any souls! What a tacky stereotype!

“I can see how you were deceived,” Gabriel continued in a tone that suggested nothing would or could ever deceive _him_ in his life. “This crawling serpent can exude charm and charisma at dangerous levels. He's an awfully wily one, seducing innocents to his satanic ways, making himself seem so relatable and human.”

Aziraphale still seemed to be having trouble with words. “But...there's no such thing as demons?”

Gabriel tutted and shook his head. “Let me guess, he never showed you his eyes, right? Demons always leave a sign and this one—” Gabriel paused and looked intently at Aziraphale who was starting to blush rather noticeably. 

“I saw his eyes,” Aziraphale said sheepishly. “He said it was a birth defect.”

“Oh. Hmm. Well, I'm sure he never told you about his work inspiring lust at—”

“At the cabaret?” Aziraphale finished. “It was how we met. Though I, ah, didn't exactly realize there would be burlesque performances until I got there.”

Now Gabriel looked confused. “And you didn't decide to run away right then? It sounds like the red flags were right in your face!”

“He was just so nice!” Aziraphale squeaked out. He seemed to be shrinking before Crowley's eyes.

Oh, no. No, no, no! Aziraphale wasn't actually _buying_ this whole 'demon after his soul' business, was he? Crowley had to do something, say something! If only he could get his stupid lip-less snake mouth to form words!

Now Gabriel was patting Aziraphale's back! The nerve! What was he going to do next? Go in for a hug?!

“We've always warned you of the deceptions of the Enemy.” Gabriel somehow managed to sound both condescending and sympathetic. “Of course he seemed kind and charming. He made himself into a handsome little honeypot, didn't he?” 

Aziraphale had to brace himself not to fall over after every firm pat from Gabriel. He was breathing very hard, like he was on the verge of another panic attack like the one he'd had at the cabaret.

“I...I should have known,” Aziraphale murmured to the ground. He was shaking, gripping the sword tightly enough that his knuckles were white. Crowley tried to convey his emotions, which were in turmoil, through his eyes, but the sweet angel wouldn't look at him.

“You should have,” Gabriel agreed. “But, to be fair, you have been far from our guiding light for years. We can help you, Aziraphale. We can save you! Don't you want to come home?”

And here Crowley had thought _he_ was the snake in the room. His fury rose to previously unimagined heights as he watched every word Gabriel said hit Aziraphale like a blow. On “home” he bit his lip and scrunched his eyes closed.

Just what was going through Aziraphale's mind right now? Did he hate Crowley? Did he want to trust Gabriel and the Hosts again? And, for Satan's sake, why couldn't Crowley do anything about it?! He couldn't speak, Aziraphale wouldn't even look at him, and squeezing people to death was generally frowned upon so...

“Really though,” Gabriel said, shaking his head, “it must have taken _some_ miracle to make you believe a man like _that_ could actually be interested in someone like _you_.”

Time froze for a moment. Aziraphale stopped breathing. Gabriel stopped his reassuring pats. And Crowley had just one thought:

_Fuck it. I'm going to bite his head off._

Then things sped up again. Crowley reared up, Gabriel's eyes went wide, and Aziraphale stumbled backward as Crowley launched himself forward. He was already filling with satisfaction at the fear growing on Gabriel's face when everything went wrong.

There was a small squeaking sound and then Crowley's side erupted into the worst pain he'd ever felt in his life. He cried out, not even noticing that his scream sounded surprisingly human. He swiveled his head and saw to his horror that his side was _boiling_. Crowley looked up, trying to think through the pain and figure out just what had happened.

And there was Michael, standing behind him holding a very large and impressive squirt gun. She smiled at him sweetly. “I wouldn't do that again, Anthony.”

_Well. Shit._

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Gabriel recovered quickly from the would-be attack. He adjusted his suit jacket, smoothed his hair, and smiled at Michael. “Excellent work. I had a feeling this demon would be a feisty one. It's good to know that holy water still works on them.”

Meanwhile, Aziraphale had gone completely white. It was easy to say that it was all too much for him, but that had been the case ever since he saw Crowley transform. No, Aziraphale had gone somewhere new now. He was no longer feeling meek and overwhelmed. Instead there was only one thing he could think: he had heard Crowley scream and it was the worst sound he had ever endured. It couldn't happen again.

Michael was watching him carefully, keeping an eye on his sword arm. Gabriel was more concerned with Crowley, who was frantically coiling around his wounded side.

“Just like a demon,” Gabriel said with faux-pity, “trying to attack a problem head-on without a hint of subtlety. No wonder your kind are a dying breed. And here I was hoping we could guide you into Her light. Oh well. Give him a blast to the face, Michael.” 

Aziraphale's eyes went wide as Michael gave Gabriel a questioning glance then raised up the now-terrifying squirt gun and...

“Just a moment,” she said. “I need to pump it up again first.” She began to pump up the gun's pressure while keeping an eye on Crowley.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “So undignified. Say, Aziraphale, you wouldn't mind if I borrowed that sword for a moment, would you?”

“No!” Aziraphale yelled loud enough to surprise even himself. But it startled the others and he found that he didn't want to back down. “That...That is...You can't hurt him! I-I won't let you!” He hurried to stand between Michael and Crowley.

A part of him wondered what on Earth he was doing. What if Michael really had some sort of acid in that squirt gun? What if she didn't hesitate to fire at both of them? Aziraphale raised his sword again, gripping it with both hands and trying his best to look like he knew what he was doing. Michael looked far from impressed.

“I can see we've gotten off on the wrong foot,” Gabriel said smoothly. “It's understandable that you've gotten attached to the demon in your isolation. If you'll just give me a bit of time to explain you'll understand why this creature needs to die.”

In a calmer moment Aziraphale might have had a good response to that, something pithy and dignified, something that would show Gabriel just how monstrous he was being. Instead Aziraphale just heard the word “die” and he panicked. He swung the sword he was holding so tightly. He had to knock the squirt gun from Michael's hands!

Instead he cut right through it.

With fire.

Dear Lord, the sword was on fire!

Gabriel and Michael leaped back, eyes wide. Aziraphale held the sword at arm's length and let out a long, frightened yell.

“Don't you dare drop that!” called a voice that Aziraphale took a moment to recognize as Crowley's. He was slithering to Aziraphale's side. At the same time, something strange was happening to Crowley's body. It was bulging and shrinking in different sections, like a balloon animal being squeezed.

“Bloody hell,” Crowley hissed. He rose up to look Aziraphale in the eye. “I...I'm having some trouble changing back. I think I can get smaller though. Can you carry me out of here?”

“But...you're a demon?” Aziraphale said, already picking Crowley up gingerly to avoid his wound. 

“Yes, and I promise we can have a great long chat about that _after_ we get away from the murderous maniacs you call family!”

It wasn't easy, but Aziraphale managed to drape Crowley over his neck while still holding the sword. It seemed best not to drop it as it was currently keeping Michael and Gabriel at bay. They kept staring at it, as though they couldn't comprehend what they were seeing.

“It's true then,” Michael murmured. “Agnes was right.”

Gabriel nodded. “She always is.”

There wasn't really time for Aziraphale to puzzle that one out. He was bending under the weight of a rather heavy snake and a large amount of fresh mental trauma. He pointed the flaming sword at the hosts as best he could. 

“Now, don't follow us! Just...Just leave us alone!”

Gabriel spread his hands. “I could never hold you against your will, Aziraphale. I'll be here when you're ready to come back and learn the truth.”

There was something about the calm, even gleeful expression on his face that made Aziraphale run from the room as fast as he could. Gabriel was deceitful, manipulative, and mean. Today was the first time Aziraphale had thought he was genuinely dangerous. He had a feeling that Gabriel might not let him go so easily if Aziraphale came back again.

Luckily there was no way he was ever going to return. 

“Where are we going?” Crowley asked, practically hissing into Aziraphale's ear. “You have to go to the side lot. The Bentley is there. We can't leave her behind!”

“It's a car, Crowley. You shouldn't be so attached to material objects,” Aziraphale replied, even as he changed course.

“Oh, that's rich coming from the owner of his own personal library!”

“We don't even have the key!”

“It was in my pocket when I transformed. The fob should still work...”

Then Aziraphale noticed that the flame on the sword was growing dimmer. It felt like he was running out of time to escape from the Hosts' palatial estate. He had never been particularly athletic, but Aziraphale was giving it his all. He didn't even notice the man coming down the hallway until they crashed into each other and went tumbling to the floor.

“Oh! I'm terribly sorry,” Aziraphale said automatically as he scrambled to pick up both Crowley and the sword. The blade had gone out in the fall. It left Aziraphale feeling very vulnerable.

“Aziraphale, is that you?” said a voice he hadn't heard in over a decade.

He looked up and, sure enough, saw Claude staring at him with that incredulous half-smile Aziraphale had always found so endearing. Suddenly he was adrift in a sea of painful and beautiful memories. It was like seeing someone come back from the dead.

“Claude! It's you! I...I never thought I'd see you again!”

“I've been hoping to see you here for years!” Claude said. “Have you accepted the Hosts back into your heart?”

Oh. Right. There was a reason they broke up. Aziraphale winced and tried to think of a polite excuse to leave. Luckily, he didn't have to.

“Back off, you brainwashed bastard!” Crowley cried, raising his head high off the ground. “He's taken. You got it?”

Claude's face filled with fear. “Demon! It—It's a demon! Sound the alarm!” And he ran off without a second glance.

For a snake, Crowley managed to look very smug. “Now _that_ isss more like it.”

Then he looked at Aziraphale who was staring at him in shock. “Oh. Did I do something wrong? I only thought...That was your ex, right? I thought you might want him gone and we're in a hurry and all and...” He trailed off, looking away.

“I've never had anyone stand up for me like that before,” Aziraphale said. He didn't know quite what he was feeling, but he knew he was feeling a lot of it.

Crowley looked back at him and blinked slowly. “I've never had someone save my life.”

They both stared at each for a long moment. It felt like, if they could only...

Just then a loud klaxon alarm went off, bringing them back to reality. Aziraphale quickly picked Crowley up and wrapped him around his neck. Then he grabbed the sword and raced to the car park where the Bentley was waiting for them. With a grunt and some flexing Crowley somehow unlocked the door.

“Now be careful, angel. I _never_ let anyone else drive the Bentley. If you so much as bruise her I'll...Well, I'll never forgive you!”

“Heh. Of course.” Aziraphale chuckled weakly, trying not to take the threat personally. It was a joke. Just a joke. He wasn't about to lose another friend. “I suppose they aren't making hellish torments like they used to.”

Aziraphale slid into the driver's seat and carefully and rather ineffectively buckled Crowley in next to him. Crowley wrapped the end of his tail around Aziraphale's wrist.

“I have answers for you. I swear.”

“I assuredly hope so,” Aziraphale replied with a desperate little smile. “The adrenaline isn't going to last much longer!” He turned and settled into his seat. “This certainly has been an exciting day. There was...Well, actually I don't want to think about any of just yet. But this part should be quite interesting!”

“What? The get-away?” Crowley asked.

“The driving!” Aziraphale said brightly. “I've never driven a car before!”

“What!” Crowley yelped. It was too late. The engine was on and Aziraphale was wrestling with gear shift.

It took a few minutes, but eventually they jerkily drove off into the sunset. Gabriel watched them from a distance, smiling to himself.

“He'll be back within a day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for continuing to read and support my story! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and found it worth the wait! Please, leave your thoughts, theories, and any squeals you need to share in the comments! I promise I'll respond to every one of them!


	21. The Demon's Details

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to finally learn some important backstory...and have some heart-felt confessions!

**Chapter 21**

Aziraphale was prepared to argue for the rest of his life about how they wound up running off the road and into the middle of a field.

“How do you mess up sssteering?” Crowley hissed, shaking his tail in frustration. “It's literally the easiest part of driving!”

“I didn't 'mess up',” Aziraphale huffed. “You pulled my arm!”

“I gave you a _comforting touch_. A tap!”

“You practically yanked it out of its socket!”

Crowley gasped with indignation, but before he could reply something odd happened. Crowley was still a snake. He claimed he'd been trying to change back during the whole ride away from the Hosts' compound. The strange part was that he was getting blurry. Aziraphale tried to blink it away, but the blur just got worse. How strange. It was almost as if he were...

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said, now frantically checking his pockets for a handkerchief. “I seem to be, ah, distressed.”

Crowley stared with wide snake eyes. “You're crying, angel. It—It's okay. You've had a hard day. I'm sure the Bentley will be fine and I don't think Gabriel is following us and...and...”

There was no more stopping it. Aziraphale burst into great, shuddering sobs. The day had just been too much. He'd confronted his family and long-lost ex-boyfriend for the first time in over ten years. He'd waved a _sword_ at them as they tried to kill his _current_ boyfriend, who had turned into a _literal snake_ in front of him and...

“Fuck!” Aziraphale yelped, pressing his palms to his eyes. Then he slid down in his seat and hit the horn on the way. “Oh! I...Oh, that was just uncalled for.”

Crowley emitted a strange sound, perhaps the snake equivalent of a snort. “It's alright, angel. I think you're entitled to as much cursing as you like.”

“Right. I suppose so,” Aziraphale agreed. He looked over at Crowley, too drained to feel self-conscious about his tears. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

“What?”

“You know,” Aziraphale shifted to face him. “Angel.”

“Oh.” Crowley suddenly looked like he would very much like to slither away. “It's just...It suits you, right? You're all light and fluffy and...good. Just a little nickname. Nothing to make a fuss over.”

“Well, normally I wouldn't,” Aziraphale said carefully. “But it does seem rather, er, on the nose with everyone accusing you of being a demon and all.”

Crowley was quiet for a long moment. “I am a demon, Aziraphale. I thought you'd realized that.”

It was true. Crowley had basically admitted it back when they were confronting Gabriel and Michael. And, well, there was the rather undeniable fact that Crowley was now a talking snake. That didn't lend itself to many explanations.

“So it's true?” Aziraphale asked quietly. “Are you after my soul? Have I fallen from grace enough that you want me for your hellish legions?”

He tried to picture it. Burning for eternity because of a few months of dating the wrong person. It would be agony, inside and out. Yet strangely, Aziraphale wondered if it would also be lonely, being among the ranks of the damned. Would Crowley still visit him in Hell? Or would he be too busy seducing new victims? Aziraphale laughed sadly. He must have a real thing for abusers if _that_ was what was bothering him.

Beside him, Crowley was slithering anxiously. “Alright. So. I know your life hasn't really set a good precedent for this for you, but I promise you _haven't_ been living a complete lie for the past few months. I'm a demon. Okay, I get that's a pretty big surprise to spring on anyone. I'm also, on the whole, just a regular bloke. 

“You've seen my life! I work two jobs! I eat crap pizza in the middle of the night! I like cuddles and Bake-Off! You can just think of me as an ordinary person with some extra features. Like someone who's ambidextrous.”

Aziraphale scoffed indignantly. “You're a demon from Hell, trying to tempt innocent souls to wickedness! That's hardly a simple little quirk!”

Crowley waved off the objection with the tip of his tail. “You're blowing this out of proportion. I'm not interested in damning anyone. I barely even use my powers anymore. Really, I'm—”

“On Valentine's Day, was that you using your powers? On Mr. Dowling?”

“...Yes.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath. “You were terrifying. Frightening enough that I didn't even want to think about you for a week.”

“I know. I'm sorry.” Crowley sounded pained. “I never wanted to do something like that in front of you. I'd never want to scare you away.”

It sounded sincere. It sounded like exactly what Aziraphale would want to hear. It put him on edge and raised questions he didn't even want to consider. He had to though. It was the only responsible thing to do.

“Crowley...Do you ever...Can you influence people's emotions? Make them feel the way you want them to?”

“Not really,” Crowley said. “I scare people, but that's just me turning up the demon 'charm' as it were. Other than that I just...Wait, why are you asking?”

Aziraphale looked away and bit his lip. He saw Crowley rise up in his seat from the corner of his eye. “You think I, what, used magic to seduce you?!”

He sounded utterly horrified. It made Aziraphale feel ashamed just to have asked the question. Still, it was important. Aziraphale pressed on.

“I know we haven't been, ah, intimate very much. When we were, I had...some fantasies. About you. Being a...demon.”

Aziraphale didn't even know what tone he was going for anymore. He was scared to sound accusing, yet here he was blatantly implying that Crowley had sent him those seductive visions as part of an evil, demonic plan. He also didn't want to sound too kind because, well, Crowley _was_ a demon and they traditionally weren't too trustworthy. Instead, Aziraphale watched Crowley carefully, hoping his response would solve everything easily, one way or another.

Crowley was very still as he took in Aziraphale's confession. Aziraphale wished he could read snake expressions better. Finally, Crowley stuck his tongue out. Angrily? 

“Bloody hell. You just had those fantasies after you saw my eyes, didn't you?”

Aziraphale looked away. “Well, I...um.”

“You did, you bastard! You saw my freaky eyes and decided to project some monster onto me to get your rocks off! Now you're just trying to justify your pseudo-Christian guilt by blaming me for the whole thing!” He paused, then seemed to speak more to himself than Aziraphale. “I'm not a monster. Come on, this is what we went over in therapy.”

The speech made Aziraphale wince with guilt, but the last bit surprised him. “You go to therapy?”

“What, did you think demons were too cool to have personal demons of their own? Hate to break it to you, but you're hardly the only one in this car with a traumatic past to deal with.” Somehow Crowley shrugged then turned away.

A traumatic past. Could Crowley really mean it, or was he trying to trick Aziraphale? “I apologize for the, ah, inappropriate thoughts I've had about you. I can see how they would be distressing. But maybe you should tell me about this past of yours. That might help clear things up.”

Crowley scoffed. “You mean it might help you decide if I'm really a monster or not? If you're really that unsure, I'm surprised you didn't leave me to Michael's holy squirt gun.”

Involuntarily, they both looked at Crowley's wound. It wasn't bleeding, but it was a hideous gash. Aziraphale paled as he remembered the scream Crowley had made when the water hit him. “Don't be absurd,” Aziraphale said firmly. “No one deserves to die like that!”

“I wouldn't be too sure,” Crowley said darkly. He yawned, showing off his long fangs. “But fine, I promised you answers and I've owed you this story for a while. Get comfortable ang—er, Aziraphale.”

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I don't know how I came to be. The others never gave me a straight answer about it. I may have been formed in a hell pit somewhere, the unnatural creation of Satan himself. I think it's more likely that Lucifer, not to be confused with Satan, bought me off some couple and, I don't know, soaked me in pig's blood under a new moon to give me my demonic powers.

What I do know is that I never had anything in the way of parents. There were some nuns who raised me when I was too young to be left alone. They were part of the family too. Satanic nuns. They always told me I had a great, dark destiny ahead of me. That I would one day stand at the right hand of Lucifer himself. I didn't really understand what they meant at the time. It was certainly enough to give me a swelled head though.

There were others like me, older and never friendly. Hastur, Ligur, Dagon, and Beelzebub. They're all a bunch of bullies, but they taught me...Well, they taught me how to use my powers.

I've been able to do unnatural things as long as I can remember. I'd do it without thinking, just suddenly have the toy I'd been admiring or the extra cookie I craved. The first trick I learned to do on purpose though, was how to disguise my eyes.

My family were, ah, blunt about my ability to fit in with humans with eyes like mine. I would already turn into a little snake whenever I felt scared or threatened. Then I'd be stuck that way for hours and everyone laughed at me for that. I knew I wasn't normal. My eyes seemed like a sign of that. I thought, if I could change them, I might be able to make some friends. Not someone who worshiped me, not someone who bullied me, just some nice normal friends.

(Don't look at me like that! I can have a basic need for companionship too, you know!)

I remember Hastur laughing at me as I spent hours staring into a mirror, willing my eyes to change. He said it was impossible, that my eyes were the sign of my demonic nature. I hated him so much in that moment that I think I had a break-through because of spite. Suddenly, for once in my life, my eyes looked perfectly normal. Beautiful even.

I couldn't keep it up for long. Even today I get headaches if I change my eyes for more than a few minutes. But for some reason everyone was deeply impressed. Lucifer himself took me under his wing after that. He taught me to control my snake form (even though I still get stuck sometimes). He showed me how to manipulate reality around me how to strike fear into the hearts of my enemies.

It was...fun. I lapped up the attention like a thirsty puppy at his feet. I didn't understand that I was in training, that his attention would only last as long as I was useful.

My family isn't made of good people. I mean, what do you expect from a bunch of demons, right? I didn't understand it when I was small, but they were always after power. No one in my family has a traditional job exactly. Instead they've made themselves a career out of wickedness. They get all their money off of things like going to CEOs and saying they can make a certain deal go their way, or make an ailment disappear, or even just get them out of going to Hell. Usually it just took a few miracles to get them to give us whatever we wanted.

So, yeah, that's how I spent most of my life: terrifying money out of lords and ladies. At least I tried to. Everyone thought I had promise when I was little, the eye trick really impressed them, but as I got older the rest of my powers just...didn't come. The other members of my family can make damn near anything happen as far as I can tell. They can teleport, transform into all sorts of disgusting creatures, and tie your shoelaces together with a snap of their fingers. I can't do anything like that. You've pretty much seen all my party tricks at this point.

Basically, the short of it is, I never got to be any good at making friends. My life was all about manipulating people and fighting to survive. I just wasn't equipped for the friendship thing. On the other hand, I was also a disappointment to my family and they weren't shy about letting me know that. It was...It was rough for a few years. I don't want to get into it, but I didn't think very well of myself for a long time.

Then one day there was a baby. Our nuns weren't part of a very strict order. They had their fun and flings. One day one of them had a baby, a daughter she named Lilith, naturally. She started bringing Lilith to the family home while she did her work for us.

It's not the most terrifying of demonic traits, but you might have noticed that I like children. Lilith was the first infant I met and she was...well now I realize she just a normal baby. She wasn't afraid of me. She liked it when I became a snake. And she never had anything to say to me about a hellish destiny. In a way, she was the first friend I ever made.

Naturally my family wasn't happy about it. There was a big dramatic to-do about how “A demon shall never know love!” and that sort of bollocks. They banished Lilith and her mother from our court and said no more babies were allowed. That was...hard. But what none of us, not even Lucifer, realized at the time was that they were already too late. I had found someone who didn't see me as a monster. That meant _I_ didn't have to either.

It took me a while to figure it out. I was fifteen when I last saw Lilith. For a while I was just grossly depressed. It made me great at following orders, but terrible at showing any initiative or creativity. I just didn't care about anything. All I wanted was for someone to smile at me again. Even the nuns seemed scared to be around me at that point. But one day I overheard them talking, saying they were worried and, well, someone suggested that I might do well in therapy. 

I arranged it all in secret, of course. The others would never let me go to a mere _human_ for help with my _feelings_. Eventually I found Mary Hodges. She didn't even blink when I told her I had grown up inside a Satanic church. I didn't mention any of the demon stuff obviously, but she took in what I did tell her without acting horrified at all. She just..listened while I rambled on about not liking my family or my life and not knowing what to do about any of it.

When I finally came to a stop she gave me a sad little smile and said, “It sounds like you've had a hard life.” It was one of the simplest things she could say and I still...I just...Well, we don't need to get into the details. The point is, she showed me some basic kindness and I became a mess.

I stayed a mess for a long time when I saw her, especially when she tried to talk some nonsense about forgiving my family. She gave up on that pretty quickly. It made me lash out even more than I already was. 

For months seeing her was like tending to an infected wound. She was guiding me to cut myself open and let out all the pus. She was also there for the metaphorical bandaging though. She helped me realize that I deserved things. Not power and money like the other demons always wanted, but, y'know, love and kindness and all that cheerful stuff. It turned out that for all my “dark destiny” I had a lot more in common with regular humans than I thought. 

After that, it didn't take me long to run away. I'd learned the word toxic and I didn't want anymore of it in my life. It happened right after I had a mission go wrong. Ligur wanted to keep pushing a victim we were working on with surprisingly strong morals. I wanted to just leave her alone. Ligur called me useless and I found that I just...didn't care. 

I didn't _want_ his approval or the approval of anyone in my family. I wanted...I wanted people who actually cared about me and I knew I wasn't going to find them at home. So I went back to the manor, packed a bag, stole a pile of cash, and took Dagon's car off to find a new life.

It was rough for the first few years. It turned out I wasn't easy to like. I was too used to lying and manipulating others and it seems most people don't like that. Who knew? It took a while for me to calm down and start being honest. Even now it isn't easy. Though I admit I got a bit of a crash course in human interaction and how not to act when I got my first real job as a barista. I don't know how you handle customer service, Aziraphale. I was ready to pour a hot venti something on someone within my first week!

Anyway, it didn't last long. I was fired within a few months and my cash was starting to run low. I'd stopped seeing Mary for a time, but she was still there to help me when I needed her. At first she recommended that I go back home, but after I laughed in her face about that she started to me me what might make me happy. And I remembered the last time I was really happy: playing with Lilith. It was a complete shift in my worldview, to think that I could be allowed around children, to believe I might be _good_ with them. I owe all that to Mary. She's the one who gave me hope.

After that things were fairly straight-forward. I lied through my arse and forged some recommendations to get my job with the Dowlings. Things weren't perfect working for them, but Warlock was great. He loved me, really loved me. It made me feel like my life had an actual purpose. Everything I am now grew from there.

I started trying to build a human life after that. I went on dates with people of various genders. Um. Don't worry. Nothing serious came of it. I was still too guarded to really let anyone in. Besides, the whole demon thing is a bit much for most people. I tried testing it once, with a man I thought I liked more than the others. He didn't _literally_ run away screaming, but it was a near thing. 

Things fizzled with another woman who used to be a dancer at the cabaret. She introduced me to the club and that was great fun. It gave me an outlet for when I got tired of being child-friendly. It was...nice. 

It was almost everything I ever wanted.

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Crowley stopped speaking abruptly at that point. He had been staring straight ahead through most of his story, with occasional glances at Aziraphale. Now he curled further into a ball as if he couldn't stand to go on.

There had been gaps in the story, Aziraphale had noticed, mostly where it seemed like Crowley was skimming over the things that had hurt him and the things that he longed for. It wasn't hard to understand those gaps. Aziraphale could relate to them all too well. Crowley had been betrayed by his family too. Not in the same way as Aziraphale, but perhaps more cruelly. Aziraphale had grown up full of love and trust. Crowley's family had made no secret out of how little they cared about him. He had been starved for love from the moment he was...born? Created?

That was still the sticking point it seemed. He _was_ a demon. Aziraphale tried to focus on that and not on how lonely and scared Crowley clearly was. For anyone else, Aziraphale's heart would be bleeding. No one deserved that sort of pain. But could he really trust a self-professed demon? What if Crowley was just playing on his heartstrings? Demons were evil and cunning and manipulative to their core. Aziraphale had grown up knowing that...

Then, all at once, he was struck with just how much of a fool he was.

“Crowley,” he hesitated. “I...”

“We should get out of the car,” Crowley interrupted him suddenly. “I'm bound to be a tangle of limbs when I manage to change back and I'd rather not have to deal with mucking up the Bentley's interior too.”

Curled in a coil as he was, Aziraphale could see Crowley's point. Still, it was clear that Crowley was, well, nervous at the very least. Aziraphale remembered how terrified he had been himself months ago when he had told Crowley his own life story, how scared he had been to be rejected. His fears had been partially realized when Crowley had all but run away from him. 

At the time Aziraphale had assumed Crowley was intimidated by his history in a cult. Now it was clear Crowley had probably been afraid to get close to anyone with a background that was in some ways so similar to his own. Crowley had come through in the end though, showing Aziraphale all the care and support he needed.

And now Aziraphale saw clearly that it was his turn to return the favor.

He wasn't sure how to start though. Aziraphale considered his words carefully as he left the car, walked around to the other side, and gently picked Crowley up from his seat. It didn't seem like Crowley was trying to be difficult, yet Aziraphale still struggled to carry all the coils of his body.

“I'm sorry,” Aziraphale said, flustered. “I've never held a snake before.”

“Don't be sssilly,” Crowley hissed teasingly, his tongue tickling Aziraphale's wrist. “You've held me plenty of times.”

Suddenly the act of carrying a snake felt far more intimate. Aziraphale blushed furiously at the thought of just how much of Crowley's skin he was touching at the moment. He nearly dropped Crowley, he was so distracted. After apologizing and gathering Crowley's tail again, Aziraphale looked for a place to put him down. There weren't many options. They were in the middle of an empty field covered in snow. 

It was cold and getting colder as the sun went down. In short, nothing around them was particularly reptile-friendly. In the end, the best Aziraphale could think of was to lay Crowley down on the boot of the Bentley. With this accomplished, they were both silent for long moment. 

At last Crowley couldn't seem to take it anymore. He squirmed uncomfortably and finally turned to look directly at Aziraphale. “Alright, let's have it. You've heard my story. Do you hate me now? Do you think I'm just a monster you need to smite?”

Aziraphale considered his words a moment longer before he spoke. This was important. He had to do this right. “Have you ever read _Frankenstein_, Crowley?”

“No, and I don't think I like where this is going.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “It's a wonderfully written story, but I'm afraid I've never been overly fond of it. Many see _Frankenstein_ as a horror story. I see it as a tragedy.”

He began to absently pet along Crowley's head and neck, unsure if snakes even liked to be pet. Crowley hesitated, then leaned into the touch.

“So is this going to be a metaphor about how I shouldn't dabble in the realm of God?” Crowley asked.

“Actually, I was seeing you as more akin to Frankenstein's monster.”

“I was afraid of that,” Crowley said with a grumble.

Oh, dear. Aziraphale sensed that he was misrepresenting his point. “No, dear boy! I always felt _sorry_ for the monster!”

Somehow Crowley managed to glare at him. Snakily.

Aziraphale winced. “Alright, I can see why you aren't thrilled about that either, but let me explain. In the book the creature, Adam, was frightful to look upon. At the same time, he began as a blank slate like all people. He learned to speak, to read, and even to philosophize. He was amazing, yet everyone assumed he was just a monster. In the end, it was his own loneliness and disillusionment with humanity that drove him to lash out.”

He paused, still stroking Crowley. “I always thought...Things might have gone very differently if Adam had had a friend.”

Crowley flinched his head away from Aziraphale's hand. “I'm not looking for a martyr, you know. Someone to fling themselves between me and the rest of humanity.”

“Believe me, Crowley. I'm far from making myself a martyr. This is hardly a sacrifice on my part,” Aziraphale said with humor.

“...I'm not _just_ looking for a friend either.”

The way Crowley said it left little room for ambiguity in Aziraphale's mind. It was practically a confession! Aziraphale's chest swelled up and he had to blink back a few tears.

“That's not what I'm looking for either,” he said softly.

Crowley's head perked up. He was now definitely alert. “So you're saying you want to...”

“I'm saying that I'm in love with you, Crowley.” Aziraphale smiled. “And I don't see a reason to run from that anymore.”

“A-Angel...” Crowley trailed off, staring at Aziraphale, seemingly at a loss for words.

For his part, Aziraphale felt strange. He was calm. He felt safe, at peace. It was a tranquility that he had never known. Without thinking about it, he leaned down and kissed the top of Crowley's head.

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“Oh, right,” Crowley said with the voice of someone who has finally seen what was right in front of him all along. In an instant, Crowley the snake melted away and Crowley the man returned. As he transformed, he hopped up from the boot so he was standing, facing Aziraphale, when the last of his scales receded. He smiled broadly, glad to have lips again. He hoped he would have need of them soon.

“Sorry that took so long,” Crowley said sheepishly. “Sometimes I just forget how to change back...What are you doing?”

Upon his first look at him, Aziraphale had gone white and fallen to his knees in the snow at Crowley's feet. Then Crowley noticed something else wrong: he was hovering about a foot in the air.

“Oh,” he said. “Whoops.”

Whoops was an understatement. Crowley was flying with his wings on full display. It was something that happened sometimes when he changed back from being a snake. Like putting his Bentley in neutral instead of park. Naturally then, it felt like something quite precious was rolling away from him.

Just a moment ago Aziraphale had said he loved him. It had felt momentous and so real. Aziraphale knew that Crowley was a demon and loved him anyway! But now he'd seen Crowley's wings and Crowley could just guess the thoughts that must be racing through Aziraphale's mind right now. After the way he'd grown up. After all the things he'd seen and thought he'd seen. There was no way around it. Crowley waited, feeling queasy, for Aziraphale to speak. 

At first he didn't even look at Crowley. Aziraphale kept his head bowed, as if he didn't deserve to meet Crowley's gaze, as if Aziraphale were a simple man who would burn to ashes at such a sight. It made Crowley want to swear or pick his nose, anything to break the illusion.

Finally Aziraphale looked up, his face pale and his expression full of awe. “Crowley...are you an angel?”

“Nope,” Crowley said dryly, popping the P. “We've been over this. Demon. Definitely a demon.”

“But—But you have...” Aziraphale paused as Crowley hastily dissolved his wings and dropped to the ground.

“Please get up,” Crowley pleaded. “You just accepted me as one kind of monster. Don't make me another one.”

Aziraphale shook his head, as though trying to clear it. “I—I'm sorry,” he said as he began to get to his feet. The knees of his trousers were soaked. He wouldn't quite look Crowley in the eye. “You just looked so much like how Raphael used to when she spread her wings. Back then everything felt so real. I know your wings are black instead of white, but I just...for a moment...”

He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself. “Are you sure you aren't an angel testing me? And if you aren't, are angels real at all? Is God? Heaven? Hell?”

They were hard questions even for regular humans to ask. For Aziraphale, with all the doctrines he'd been raised with, it had to be soul-wrenching. Crowley just wished he could say something more reassuring.

“I'm sorry, Aziraphale,” Crowley said heavily. “I don't have any easy answers for you. Believe me, I've thought about all this plenty. If there are angels, I've never met one. If there's a Hell, I've never been. And if there's a God, she doesn't love me.”

Aziraphale stood blinking at him for a moment. Then his lips quirked in a ghost of a smile. It made Crowley's spirits lift just a bit. Aziraphale raised his arm and cupped Crowley's cheek in his hand. Crowley turned his head to kiss it.

“Crowley, may I hug you?”

“I really, _really_ wish you would.”

They crashed into each other, grasping tightly at arms and backs as they laughed and cried at the absurdity of everything.

“I love you,” Aziraphale murmured into Crowley's shoulder. “_I_ love you. You don't have to be alone anymore. Neither of us does. I'm yours...if you'll have me?”

Crowley couldn't believe Aziraphale even needed to ask at this point. He couldn't believe he hadn't been completely obvious already. “Have you? Of course I'll have you! I love you too! I love you so much I can't think straight! I love you so much I'll even let it go that you compared me to _Frankenstein_ of all things!”

“Frankenstein's _monster_,” Aziraphale gently corrected, looking quite happy with himself.

“Whatever,” Crowley ran his fingers through his lover's hair.

Aziraphale closed his eyes in bliss. “Well, if it suits better, I could also have evoked the ballad of 'Sk8er Boi'...” 

That was enough to make Crowley laugh outright. It felt good. Everything felt good.

“Or we could skip to kissing,” Aziraphale added hopefully.

Crowley looked down into his eyes and leaned in so their faces were almost touching. “I could kiss you for eternity.”

Despite his words, a part of Crowley was still afraid. Was he moving too fast? Trusting too much? Setting himself up for a great fall? Then Aziraphale closed the distance between them. Their lips met and Crowley felt like he was relaxing for the first real time in his life. This was it. This was what he was meant to do. This, to him, was their real first kiss.

They stood there for a long time, kissing again and again like nothing in the world could stop them. Eventually though, time moved on. The sun finished setting and a chill set in. Aziraphale took a step back and smiled apologetically, but that was alright, Crowley reminded himself. It was fine that they were back in the world again. They were in love. Aziraphale, a human, was in love with him, Crowley, a demon. It was surely the most miraculous thing that had ever happened on Earth.

It was Aziraphale who first brought up practicalities. “It's getting cold out. We should go...somewhere.” He frowned. “Where _can_ we go, Crowley? The Hosts will be watching my home and you've lost yours. I suppose we could go to a hotel or some such thing but...”

But a hotel would cost money, something neither of them had a great deal of. Crowley considered their options. If only they had a friend they could...Wait, of course! It would be a bit of a big ask, but surely Mary would help them!

“I think I have an idea,” Crowley said, before leaning down and giving Aziraphale one more kiss. “Come on, I'll tell you about it on the way.”

They climbed back into the Bentley with Crowley very firmly taking the driver's side this time. He didn't comment again on how they'd wound up in the field in the first place, that would have ruined the euphoric mood they were in, but he was happy to leave it behind. As far as Crowley was concerned, the future was bright and right ahead of them.

Because surely Mary would help them and surely everything would work out from there. They had already gone through the worst. Now Crowley felt free. He drove without his sunglasses and with a smile on his face, off into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I thank you all for your patience! I know I'm not the fastest updater in the world, but I hope my chapters are worth the wait! Thank you for reading. I'll be happy to reply to any comments you send my way!


	22. Cages and Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A betrayal happens...pretty quickly! Our heroes ask a lot of questions and maybe get more answers than they realize.

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

Aziraphale's first impression of Mary was that she was quite direct and surprisingly kind. When they first arrived at her office, Crowley stood frozen in the doorway of her waiting room, staring speechlessly at a group of unsavory-looking types that appeared to be waiting for them.

Mary was the only potential therapist in the room. She stepped forward, waved a little, then said, “I'm betraying you, Crowley. I'm awfully sorry about this.”

That was when Aziraphale and Crowley both blacked out.

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Crowley was crying when Aziraphale woke up. That was when he knew they were in serious danger. Aziraphale had seen Crowley in dire situations before. He'd seen him sad, angry, annoyed, frustrated, miserable, furious, and depressed. But Aziraphale had never seen him cry before. He sounded hurt. He sounded hopeless.

The noise tore at Aziraphale's heart more than any sense of fear for their situation. He opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was bars. He sat up gingerly. Then he turned and saw Crowley, sitting in the corner of the cell they were in, with his knees pressed to his chest and his head in his hands.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale called out softly. “What's going on? Where are we?”

Crowley froze, mid-sob. He turned away and when he turned back he was wearing his sunglasses and a neutral expression. “Welcome back, angel. I believe we're in Hell.”

Hell?! It couldn't be! Were they really here already? Had the Devil himself come to claim them?

Aziraphale looked around them in shock. They were in one cell of several in a room with cement walls and no windows. The room was bathed in a bright, hellish red light that could only come from the fires of—! Wait, no, it was just coming from a red light bulb in the ceiling. Looking back down, he saw a large device of some sort in the corner. Was it a tool for torture? Aziraphale peered at it more carefully in the dim light.

“Crowley, why does Hell have a Stairmaster?” Aziraphale whispered, not sure if he should be nervous.

“He was being metaphorical,” said a helpful voice. “We're really in the basement.”

Aziraphale whipped around to see the cell behind theirs. Mary was there, sitting in the center of it with a mild look on her face, as though she didn't have a care in the world.

She waved at Aziraphale, who felt it was only polite to wave back no matter how confused he was.

“Hell-o,” Mary said cheerfully. Her eyes seemed a bit too wide.

“Um, hello,” Aziraphale replied cautiously. “Forgive me if my memory is inaccurate, but didn't you 'betray' us quite recently?”

“Oh, yes!” Mary said brightly. “I've been working for the Satanists for years now! I was instructed to straighten Crowley out and get him back in demonic, damning shape. Then, when he ran away, I was just supposed to watch him and let the others know when he was vulnerable so they could strike!” She clawed her hands in a pouncing fashion.

“Would you shut up!” Crowley yelled, his voice cracking just a bit. He took a second to clear his throat. “She's been hypnotized pretty thoroughly and now she won't. Stop. Talking!”

“Don't worry, Crowley dear,” she went on. “I know this is bound to affect your already fragile ability to trust, but you _were_ starting to see me as a mother figure and that was never going to work out, regardless of the lie our entire relationship was based on.”

Crowley literally growled and Aziraphale hurried to intervene. “So, um, you're Mary, I take it? The therapist Crowley has been seeing?”

Mary nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, exactly! Except I'm _also_ Sister Mary Loquacious, one of the nuns in the order of Crowley's church. Oh, I'm so glad to finally be out in the open about all this. It'll do wonders for my mental health...if I'm not killed soon, that is!”

Crowley was still growling, but now he was pacing with his hands over his ears. It was difficult to know who needed reassuring more.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said, hastily looking between them. “Mary, you've behaved very poorly and I'm sure Crowley is quite angry with you, but I know he won't _kill_ you...” Crowley growled a bit louder, suggesting that this wasn't a certainty.

Mary waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, I know _he_ won't. Crowley is the sweetest, kindest, gentlest demon I've ever known!”

“I will _slaughter_ you!” snarled Crowley.

“It's the others that will probably do it,” she continued calmly. “After all, I've served my purpose, seen too much, and they don't appreciate all the help I've given Crowley over the years.”

“Help?!” Crowley yelled. “When have you ever given me any help that wasn't just cruelly manipulating me to my family's ends? When have you ever said anything real to me?!”

Then Mary had the audacity to shush him. “Hush,” she said. “Now isn't the time for catastrophizing.” 

“NOW IS THE PERFECT TIME FOR CATASTROPHIZING!”

Mary shook her head and turned back to Aziraphale. “He often has trouble processing his emotions in the moment. That's why we started exchanging emails. Though that's not something I would do for my regular clients.”

“Oh, stop with that bollocks!” Crowley said. “Like you're even a real therapist!”

“You see, this is how he asks questions when he's afraid. He makes accusations instead.” Mary looked back at Crowley. “I am too a real therapist. It's not as easy to fake as people think! Besides, as much as I enjoy being a Satanic nun, I'm afraid it doesn't pay very well. That's why I was focusing more on my career when Lucifer approached me about counseling you. It was lucky in a lot of ways because I hadn't been around the manor enough for you to recognize me. Besides that, there was always care for my little niecey-poo while I worked with you, what with Lucifer threatening her and all.”

Mary paused for breath and Crowley hurried to speak. “Wait, what are you talking about? You have a niece that Lucifer is after?”

“Oh, not exactly,” Mary said serenely. Crowley sighed with relief before she continued. “Lilith and her mother, my sister, were kidnapped years ago, just after you left. Lucifer has been holding them hostage ever since!”

“WHAT!” Crowley yelled and Aziraphale winced at the volume of it. “Lilith is in danger?”

“_And_ Warlock.”

That silenced them all. Aziraphale felt a chill go through him. He looked desperately at Crowley. Surely his family wouldn't stoop to hurting children, would they? Crowley wouldn't return Aziraphale's gaze. Instead he was staring intently at the ground, looking like he'd been hollowed out and could barely stand straight anymore. Aziraphale rushed to his side and caught him just as Crowley's knees gave out.

“I've got you, Crowley. I've got you,” Aziraphale said as soothingly as he could.

Crowley didn't seem to hear him. He clutched him, but continued to stare at nothing. “They have Lilith. They've gone after Warlock. All to hurt me. This is...This is all my fault!” He started to shake and it was all Aziraphale could do to hold him up.

Aziraphale's thoughts raced. There had to be something he could say, something he could do to make this disastrous situation better.

“Also, if you hadn't realized,” Mary added, “they've also captured the man you're in love with.”

“Oh, would you be quiet!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, the way you're acting!”

Mary frowned, for the first time looking vaguely concerned. “I should, shouldn't I? I remember feeling awful and guilty and frightened. Then Beelzebub told me not to make such a fuss and I just...stopped.”

Crowley groaned in Aziraphale's arms. “I told you, she's been hypnotized. She won't be herself for hours unless someone snaps her out of it and I'm too much of a wreck to try.” Crowley looked up at him, breathing hard. “I'm so sorry, Aziraphale. For all of this. I'll do whatever I have to to keep you and the children safe.”

“Come to think of it,” Mary said thoughtfully, “they'll probably just let your boyfriend go. What with the Arrangement and all.”

Arrangement? Just what was she talking about now? And why was the idea of being set free sending shivers down Aziraphale's spine?

“What do you mean by the Arrangement?” Aziraphale asked cautiously. He had a feeling in his gut that he didn't actually want to know the answer.

On the other hand, Mary looked pleased to have another question to answer.

She never even noticed the figure who had appeared suddenly behind her.

“No more talking,” the figure hissed, and poor Mary collapsed to the floor.

Aziraphale let out a cry, but Crowley didn't do the same. Instead he went stiff in Aziraphale's arms, then slowly pulled away to stand up straight beside him.

“Hello, Ligur,” Crowley said coolly, casually, as if the figure were just an acquaintance he hadn't he hadn't seen in a while. “Did you just kill my therapist?”

“Nah,” laughed the man. “No need to summon the last rider just yet.”

Aziraphale's eyes were wide and he didn't know where to look: at Ligur; Crowley; or Mary collapsed, but seemingly still alive. From the way Crowley was acting, Aziraphale could tell that Ligur was likely a member of Crowley's family, and that made him...

“You're a demon, aren't you?” Aziraphale said without even thinking. The man had laughed at the thought of killing Mary. He looked smug and amused even now. He had unnatural-looking splotches on his face and something about him just seemed inhuman. This Ligur was a demon, that was certain. But he was also a monster in every way that Crowley was not. Aziraphale felt weak in his knees. Was he now looking at an actual agent of Hell?

Ligur smirked at Aziraphale's question. Then, in a blink, he disappeared. This was more startling now that Aziraphale was paying attention to him. But far worse was when Aziraphale caught a glimpse of something to his left and turned to see a monstrous face snarling at him!

“RAWR!” the creature cried, leaning toward Aziraphale menacingly. It was the most horrifying thing he had ever seen! It was Hell incarnate!

Aziraphale punched it in the face.

Immediately Ligur's form returned to normal. He swore and clutched at a bloody nose. Crowley laughed despite himself.

“That's what you get for challenging someone's fight or flight when they can't run anywhere, you bastard!”

Aziraphale's hand hurt fiercely from the punch. Still, he hurried over to Ligur to help as best he could. “Oh dear, it's not broken, is it? Perhaps we should get some ice or—OOOF!”

Apparently Ligur didn't care for Aziraphale's fretting, because he roughly shoved him away. Aziraphale just barely held his balance as he fell back a few steps and Ligur sneered at him. A blink later and Ligur was outside the cage. He was glaring at Crowley.

“You've got a knack for trusting idiots, Crawly,” Ligur said as he conjured up a handkerchief and pressed it to his nose. “Makes sense, since you are one. Who do you think you are, trapped down here and still calling me a bastard? You're already going to suffer. Don't know why you're making it worse.”

Aziraphale put a hand on Crowley's shoulder, but the attempt at restraint was pointless. Crowley had been through too much that day and, just as Aziraphale had reached his own breaking point earlier in the Bentley, now it was Crowley's turn. But Aziraphale had had a safe place to have a cry. Crowley didn't have the luxury of showing weakness. Instead he lashed out.

“I'm going to end you, Ligur! You and this whole bloody family! You could have just left me alone and I never would have bothered you again! Instead you're threatening to destroy everything I've ever loved! I'm never going to forgive you for this. I'll destroy this whole Satanic movement! I'll...”

“Ah. Is this a bad time?” another man said.

Crowley had been releasing his demonic fury again, clearly focused on trying to get any reaction from Ligur, who stood looking unimpressed. Meanwhile Aziraphale was doing his best not to cower and he happened to see the new, rather shabby-looking man come into the room through a doorway that led to some stairs going up.

Everyone stared at the man upon his interruption. Crowley was the first to break the silence. “Shadwell? What the bloody Hell are you doing here?”

Ligur grinned maliciously. “Oh, so you've already met Agent Shadwell, have you? He's one of our spies on the opposition!”

“All I know is he's shit at yoga,” Crowley mumbled. Then he did a double-take. “Wait a minute. What opposition? You can't mean...”

“Yes!” Ligur said with venom. “The very enemy you've been fraternizing with! The angels!”

Aziraphale blinked. But Crowley had told him there weren't any angels. Besides, the only ones Crowley had been 'fraternizing' with lately were himself and the Hosts. Surely this powerful demon wasn't foolish enough to believe _they_ were angels?

Sure enough, Crowley laughed outright in Ligur's face. “You know, Gabriel tried that line on me too, with all his special effects. It was good production values. I'm not surprised an idiot like you fell for it.”

Ligur looked confused, then he sneered. “Well, if they're nothing to worry about, then why do you have a holy water wound?”

Instantly Crowley's hands went to his side. His shirt was covering him, but Aziraphale remembered the hideous gash underneath. From the way Crowley winced it was clearly still hurting him.

“So they got some priest to bless some water and that was enough to nearly kill me?” Crowley huffed out a laugh, clearly making an effort to sound casual. “That's a pretty big weakness for us if you ask me. Why did no one ever tell me about it?”

“There were a lot of things you didn't need to know yet the last time you were here. You weren't worthy. You still aren't.” Ligur shrugged. “If it were up to me, we would have killed you ages ago. Luckily for you, I'm not in charge. But no, they didn't need a priest. Any angel can bless holy water. At least they used to. Who knows if they can even do that party trick anymore.”

Then, before Ligur could explain what any of _that_ meant, Shadwell cleared his throat. “Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Ligur, but I have news! I've been tracking down a witch for a while now and I think I may have finally found—ERCK!”

Ligur had Shadwell by the throat and was looking at him with contempt. “For the last time, we don't care about your weird bloody hard-on for witches!”

Aziraphale stared in shock. First Ligur had attacked Mary and now Shadwell? If this was how the demons treated allies, what would they do to a traitor like Crowley? The thought made Aziraphale start to breathe fast with panic, but also something else, a strange feeling he couldn't quite put a name to. It was something he had felt earlier that day when...

“Ligur, that's enough,” called another new voice. A number of people came through the doorway, all dressed in black and led by a short person with messy hair and an irritated expression. Aziraphale wondered why the group had decided to use the door. He had no doubt they were demons too.

“Oh, goody,” said Crowley, glaring at the newcomers. “The whole family is here. Or most of it. Is Daddy too busy to see me in person?”

That earned Crowley a whole host of scowls. The group's leader stepped forward and slapped the air in front of them. To Aziraphale's shock, Crowley recoiled as though he'd actually been hit. Were there any limits on what these people could do?

Meanwhile Crowley looked far less horrified. Instead he was almost...amused? He rubbed his hand on his tender cheek and smirked. “Did I hit a nerve, Beelzebub? Is Lucifer not happy with how you've things like kidnapping me and blackmailing my therapist? Just let us go and I promise it can all be in the past!”

“Lucifer is dead, you idiot,” Beelzebub said said harshly. “I'm in charge now.”

And Crowley paled, perhaps showing more vulnerability than he realized. “Dead? How did he...”

“Oh, he died of heartbreak, wishing you would come home,” Beelzebub said with sarcasm and a mocking pout. Then they rolled their eyes. “He was old. He died. It happens, even to demons, even if we did have to help him along in the end.” They smirked. “He was a tough bastard all through it. Didn't mention _you_ at all.”

This Beelzebub was clearly a heartless person, Aziraphale realized. He also strongly suspected that they were a liar. Aziraphale swallowed, then stepped forward, slightly in front of Crowley.

“I think it's time that you dispensed with the theatrics,” Aziraphale said as calmly as he could. “Clearly you want Crowley for something if you lot have been watching him for years and have gone to the trouble of kidnapping both of us. Would you be so kind as to get to the point?”

The little dungeon was getting quite crowded by then. It was hard to tell exactly who laughed at first. Then the other demons looked at one of their number, a woman Aziraphale was shocked to realize he recognized. 

“Wait...You!”

She smiled and her teeth looked sharp. “Aw, the baby angel recognizes me! What are you going to do if you don't get your answers? Recommend another book for me?”

“Wait, you know Dagon?” Crowley asked.

“I do!” Aziraphale swelled with indignity. “She's a _shoplifter_!”

There was a moment of silence, then all the demons burst out laughing at the accusation.

“You do realize that we're demons, right?” one of them said. “We've all done a lot worse than stealing! Even your precious boyfriend over there!”

“What an idiot!”

“I can't believe we were scared of him!”

Suddenly the laughter stopped and everyone stared at the last demon who had spoken. They were a black man whose hair was styled into two pointed poofs, almost like rabbit ears. Beelzebub glared particularly ferociously at him.

“Very well,” said Aziraphale, breaking the silence. “I understand that you are far from upstanding citizens. But you are clearly powerful enough to do just about anything you want with or without Crowley. _He_ just wants to be left alone. He isn't interfering with any of your plans, so why are you going to all this trouble to get him back now?”

The demons behind Beelzebub looked at each other doubtfully. The hare haired one muttered, “I mean, we have to tell Crowley about the prophesy anyway. It's not like Agnes—URK!”

He was cut off abruptly as Beelzebub suddenly chopped a hand across his throat.

“How about we keep this short and sweet instead?” they said. “Crowley, we need you for one last mission, never mind why. Are you going to come willingly or are you going to keep hiding behind that 'angel' of yours?” Beelzebub smiled wickedly and held out their hand, palm up. In a flash, a small blaze of hellish fire appeared there. “Because I'm sure we can work our way through him if we have to.”

They tossed the fire at Aziraphale, who instinctively dodged to avoid it. Getting burned by magically summoned fire was one thing, but he had a particularly bad feeling about this fire. He didn't want it anywhere near him!

Then Crowley put a hand on his shoulder and moved past Aziraphale to pick up the still-burning flame on the floor of their cell. It didn't seem to hurt him at all. He crushed the fire in one hand. He didn't look at Aziraphale.

“One last mission, huh? And if I do it you'll let everyone go? Aziraphale, the children, Mary?”

Beelzebub shrugged. “Yeah, why not? Easier than keeping them around.”

“Will they still be _alive_ when you let them go? Will they _stay_ alive?”

“Oh, Crowley,” Beelzebub said with a roll of their eyes. “You can put as much fine print in this arrangement as you want, but I know your intent and you know mine. In the end we'll just have to trust each other. Now, are you coming or not?”

Crowley took a deep, shaky breath, then nodded.

“Crowley, no!” Aziraphale burst out, suddenly even more terrified than he'd already been. “You can't! What about...”

“It'll be alright, Aziraphale. Remember, I l—”

But he disappeared before he could finish saying it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! That one took a while! I hope you all enjoyed this latest chapter even though things got a bit dark. Once again, I thank you for your patience between updates. Thank you as well for the comments you leave and encouragement you give me. I hope my story is able to help you get through these difficult times.


	23. A Time for Action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley do their best to figure out what's going on and why they've been captured by the demons. Answers come from an unexpected source.

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

From the moment Crowley and the other demons disappeared, an outsider might have expected Aziraphale to alone and terribly afraid. He did not. Instead he was filled with another emotion altogether.

Aziraphale was furious.

This wasn't right. This wasn't fair! They'd only just admitted that they loved each other. They'd escaped the Hosts of the Higher Power and run off together only to be torn apart by literal agents of Hell! It was so much. Too much to be borne by a mortal soul.

Except...Well, if those demons had expected him to stay quiet, trapped by this cage and his own fear, then they were quite underestimating Aziraphale and his faith, perhaps not in God, but in the universe to lean toward goodness and hope.

It was that hope that made him take a deep breath and speak out to Shadwell, who was still looking stunned on the floor of the dungeon.

"They're gone now. Are you alright, dear fellow?"

Shadwell blinked at him, uncertain and suspicious. Aziraphale wondered fleetingly when the last time was that someone had been genuinely kind to this man. If he truly was a 'double agent', then between the Hosts and the Satanists it may have been some time indeed.

“'m fine,” the old man finally answered. “It ain't the first time I've been grabbed by the throat. Won't be the last.” He stood slowly then put his hands on his hips. “Witch-hunting is serious business after all!”

On another day Aziraphale's curiosity might have been piqued. He might have tried to learn this strange man's story. As it was, now didn't seem like the time. But perhaps the timing _was_ right for a bit of mutual kindness.

“Mr. Shadwell, was it?” Aziraphale asked tentatively. “I have to ask, has your time with these ruffians, and my associates the Hosts, really been worth it? Whose ideology do you actually follow?”

Shadwell shrugged. “Honestly, they're all a bunch of wankers. I just work with them both on the off-chance one of them will help me with my witch-hunting...which they haven't been too keen about lately, I'll admit.”

“So surely you'd want to get away from them, wouldn't you? How would you feel about defecting and escaping with me instead?”

Shadwell looked surprised. “_You_ want to help me hunt witches?”

“Well, no,” Aziraphale admitted. “But I won't lie to you and I won't hurt you. And, if we're lucky, we may be able to stop some very bad people. Can that be enough for you?”

“Hmph. No one takes witches seriously these days.” Shadwell grumbled for a few moments then glanced back at Aziraphale. “It's not like I can get you out of there anyway. I haven't got the key.”

And then Aziraphale smiled. He'd been hoping for an opportunity like this. He held out his hands, which were clearly empty, and then, with a quick flick of his wrist, held a key out in front of him.

Shadwell stared. “..._You_ aren't a witch, are you?”

“No,” said Aziraphale proudly. “Just good at old-fashioned human magic. I got the key shortly after I, ah, punched Ligur.”

The punching bit seemed to impress Shadwell more than the sleight-of-hand had. His eyebrows rose on his forehead. “Well, what are you waiting for, laddie? Let's get out of this Hell-hole!”

Aziraphale nodded and quickly unlocked the cell door. What he didn't know was that the key he held wasn't actually a key to the cell. That had been lost years ago and the demons had been teleporting guests in and out for ages anyway. The key actually went to garden shed out back where Ligur kept a terrarium with one very pampered iguana named Lizzie.

The key worked anyway.

It also worked a moment later on Mary's cell after Aziraphale thought about it and realized they simply couldn't leave her behind. He tapped at her cheek until Mary woke up.

“We're escaping, my dear, but I hate to leave you behind with these unsavory sorts. Do you promise not to betray us if we let you come along?”

It was a tricky situation. Mary had already proved herself to be a traitor once. She had been working for the Satanists for who knew how many years. What could she say at this point that would prove she'd really had a change of heart?

These same thoughts seemed to be flitting through Mary's mind too. Her eyes were wide and beseeching. In the end, she didn't say anything. She simply nodded her head and raised up one hand, pinkie extended.

Aziraphale sighed. He supposed that would have to do. He hooked his pinkie with hers then helped Mary stand up.

“Right,” he said, “let's get going.”

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“ --ove you,” Crowley finished, a mere instant and eternity too late.

Beelzebub laughed at him, because of course they did. “Aw, look! The little Hell-spawn thinks he can love!”

It wasn't worth engaging them about. Mary would tell him to choose his battles carefully. Then he remembered that Mary was a liar and a traitor and that made Crowley feel rather like he had missed a step on a flight of stairs. He scrunched his eyes closed behind his sunglasses. Alright. It was time to do this.

“So,” Crowley said, clapping his hands and rubbing them together, “what are we up to tonight, or rather,” he glanced at his watch, “this morning? It must be something big if you've gone to all this trouble to drag me back. Are we going to cause an international incident? Hurry climate change up? Start a new fad diet? Bring on the apocalypse already?”

He sounded glib, but really Crowley was speaking with grim determination. He was willing to do some truly awful things if it meant being free again, if it meant saving Aziraphale and the others.

But Beelzebub smiled at him, eyes full of secrets, and Crowley knew he wasn't going to get a whole answer. They must have learned that look from Lucifer...

Satan below, was he really dead? The man who had been so cruel to him and yet sometimes so kind. The man who had been a sort of father to Crowley all his life. (Or at least the closest thing Crowley had to a father.) Now he was gone and Crowley had never had the chance to confront him about the way he'd been treated. Never had a chance to say goodbye. 

Crowley wondered, for the millionth time in his life, if there really was a Hell. He wondered if Lucifer was happy there. 

“I hope you haven't gotten too soft in your time among humans,” Beelzebub said snidely. “Because we need you to do your part without wringing your hands over every little thing.”

Crowley scoffed like he thought feelings were deeply uncool. “I said I'd help, didn't I? Just tell me what I need to do already. I can handle whatever it is.”

“Good. Because we need you to kill a child.”

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“Oh, this is horrible! _I'm_ horrible!” Mary wailed, her hypnosis having apparently worn off. “I'm a failure as a nun _and_ a therapist! Oh, how did I ever let things get so bad? I just wanted to make my mum proud, and now look at me!”

Looking at her did indeed reveal that Mary was a mess in a habit. She'd been sobbing ever since they'd all piled into Shadwell's ancient, barely-living car. In fact, Aziraphale had been doing his best _not_ to look at Mary throughout their drive. It was embarrassing and felt more than a little impolite.

“Well, um, Mary,” he said delicately when she at last took a moment to breathe, “I hope that you see this escape as an opportunity to turn over a new leaf, as it were. You see, bringing you along wasn't entirely altruistic on my part. I still need to save Crowley and I think that you have some valuable information to help me do that. Will you help me, Mary? Will you help Crowley?”

Mary stared and then took a moment to wipe her eyes with her sleeve. “Alright. This could get me killed, you know. More killed than I was already going to be. But alright. For Crowley. What do you want to know?”

“Let's start with this prophecy business. What are those demons up to? Why do they need Crowley so badly?”

“Well,” Mary looked apologetic, “I'm afraid I don't have the full answers there. Beelzebub and the others never gave me any explanations for why I had to do certain things. They're so above us humans, you see. We'd never be able to grasp the nuance of their Great Plan. It's...it's... Oh, I'm sure there's a word for it! Anyway, that doesn't mean I haven't picked up bits and pieces over the years. You see, our form of Satanism is all about personal gain, for the individual and the collective. I never got too into the philosophy of it; it was just something fun to do on the weekends really.

“But the point is that my people, or at least the demons, could rule the world if they wanted. They've just always been held back.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Held back by whom?”

“Oh, you know, the creatures of the light.” Mary rolled her eyes and put her fingers in air quotes. “The 'angels'.” 

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Anathema was calm even though it was a time to be worried. She'd had a creepy old man following her for weeks. She was in a relationship that was getting steadily more serious. And there was the fact that her roommate had disappeared for the last twenty-four hours. All of it was worth worrying about. But it was also fine. Because everything was going according to plan.

She finished packing a few odds and ends then went to gently wake Newt, who had stayed the night. It was very early in the morning, so she had some coffee ready if he complained. She doubted he would though. He never did. 

“Newt dear,” she said as he slowly awoke. “Can you get up? I need you to drive me somewhere.”

He looked at her with a gaze that could only be described as loving. It gave Anathema a pang of guilt. He had no way of knowing that the only reason they were together was so she could get this ride on this day. She never had been able to get her UK driver's license.

And so they drove for several hours in the early morning mist. Newt kept up pleasant chatter while Anathema did occult things with a pendulum and a map. (They were both quite used to each other by now.) Finally she worked out exactly where they were going (it shouldn't have been a surprise) and was able to give Newt an address to plug into the GPS. And then just regular directions when the GPS immediately and spectacularly malfunctioned.

They arrived at an expansive country estate just as another spluttering car arrived. Aziraphale stared at them through his window. Anathema waved.

Moments later they all assembled outside in the snowy parking lot of the Hosts of the Higher Power. Aziraphale was still making noises of disbelief.

“I, um, what? Newt? Anathema? What the devil are you doing here?” Then he put his hand over his mouth, clearly having second thoughts about invoking the Lord of Hell. “Er, what I mean to say is...That is...”

Anathema stopped him by giving him a tight hug. “When you didn't come home and Newt said you weren't at work, I knew you were in trouble. I'm here to help.”

Aziraphale blinked in surprise. “You are? But you don't even know what's going on!”

“I probably know more than you do.” Anathema glanced at the creepy old man beside Aziraphale, the one who had been following her for weeks. She winked. “No one takes witches seriously these days.”

Then she frowned, serious again. “Before you go back to demand answers from the only powers you've ever known, I have a story you need to hear.”

And with everyone staring at her in confusion, Anathema began the tale she'd been born to tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! Thank you all for reading! I hope you've continued to enjoy what's become a rather long story. Right now the end is a ways off, but definitely in sight! In fact, one of the my New Year's resolutions is to finish Millennial Blues this year! I'm so excited for where things are going, you guys! Expect action! Adventure! Romance! Philosophy!
> 
> As always, your comments are immensely appreciated! Thank you for your attention and may you all have a happy and prosperous 2021!


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